Dreams of Hope
by InfinityStar
Summary: Goren and Eames' lives are drastically changed for good unless Logan can figure out what happened and set everything right.
1. On the Run

**A/N: I hadn't intended to put up another story just yet, but I am still stunned by USA network's total disregard for the devoted fans of CI as well as their blatant disrespect for the team who are the core of CI and its success. It will take awhile to recover from this. Anyway, I've been beating my head against the wall to loosen the next chapter out for my ongoing stories and all I got for my efforts was a headache. Then, in the middle of the night like a thief, USA made its announcement. Creatively (and emotionally) that kind of shut me down, until this story popped into my head yesterday. So here it goes. Enjoy!**

**One more thing before I let y'all go--I have to say that I have long been devoted to Vincent and his career, and it's entirely his fault that I fell in love with Bobby Goren. For that I have to thank him. I will continue to support him and enjoy whatever projects he deems worthy of his considerable talent. As for CI, I am deeply sorry to say that without Goren, I have no interest in the show. He was the show for me and he made it not only worth watching, but worth being devoted to. When Bobby leaves, I will go with him. Regarding CI fan fiction, I will remain here, folks. We are going to have a real need for fresh casefiles and new adventures for Goren and Eames. I do implore my fellow writers (and you know who you are, I am sure) to continue providing us with worthy stories to fill the gap Goren and Eames' departure will leave in our lives. I will do my best to do the same, to keep Goren and Eames alive in black and white since USA is taking the color away. Please, any of you, feel free to PM me anytime. And let me say, yes, I know it's "just a television show," but this particular television show has played an important role in my life beyond the difficulties of daily reality. I have a strong emotional investment in these characters that I am unwilling to relinquish. To Vincent and Kathryn I offer a heartfelt thank you for giving us Goren and Eames. **

* * *

_I know how men in exile feed on dreams of hope._

---Aeschylus

* * *

_Pounding..._

Alex Eames rolled over in her bed, pulling the covers over her head.

_More pounding..._

With a groan, she rolled out of bed, slipped her backup piece from its place on the nightstand and went to the living room. Looking out, she was only mildly surprised to see her partner standing on the step. Pulling the door open, she said, "I swear, Goren, if you're drunk again..."

"I'm not," he said quickly as he stepped into the house. "Are you all right?"

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

Before he could answer, her phone rang. Moving fast, he went to the counter and picked it up. The display read _Logan._

To Eames' surprise, he flipped it open. "Yeah?"

_You're with her now?_

"Of course I am."

_That was fast. Good. I was on my way there, but I'll head uptown instead. Don't waste any time, man. They're on the way._

He closed the phone without another word and set it back on the counter. Eames grabbed his arm and jerked, turning him to face her. "What the hell is with you? You come barging in here at four in the morning, you answer _my_ phone..."

"I don't have time to explain, Eames. Get dressed, pack a bag and make it fast."

There was something in his urgency that threw up red flags in her mind and she did as he asked. When she came out of the bedroom with a small suitcase, she found him pacing nervously, holding her coat. He shoved her coat into her hands as he grabbed her suitcase with one hand and her arm with the other and led her from the house, toward an unfamiliar vehicle.

"Where'd you get this?" she asked, surprised to see a dark blue Skylark instead of the black Mustang he and Lewis had spent two years restoring.

"I borrowed it. Get in."

She got into the car and had barely closed the door when he pulled away from the curb. "What the hell is going on? What is wrong with you and why was Logan calling _me_?" she demanded.

"Trust me," he insisted, his mouth set in a taut line.

His eyes darted to the rearview mirror; she had never seen him so attentive to their surroundings. He was taking pains to drive carefully, not calling any attention to them. The intensity of his alertness and his caution alarmed her. "Bobby..."

"Not now, Eames. I promise I will explain."

Not fifteen minutes after they left Eames' house, it was surrounded by flashing lights and unmarked cars. They busted down the front door and came out empty-handed. "She's not here."

"So we keep looking. Let's go."

* * *

Goren wasted no time getting to JFK International Airport. He parked the car in the long-term parking garage and hurried to the trunk as Eames grabbed her bag from the back seat. She joined him at the back of the car. He handed her a nice leather purse, then he gave her a wallet, a plane ticket and a passport. He leaned in and spoke quickly, urgently. "Your name is Anne Davenport. You're flying British Airways to London to visit your sister. You're not a cop; you sell real estate. You don't know me."

"What?"

He slammed the trunk, picked up his own suitcase and gave her a gentle shove toward the terminal doors. "Please, Eames. I'll see you on the plane. Hurry. Departure is in less than an hour."

She watched him hustle off toward a different set of doors than the ones he'd pushed her toward. What the hell was going on? _Trust me._ Her gut told her to follow his lead, so she hurried toward the terminal.

In the wallet he'd handed her, she found a New York driver's license with her picture on it but the name Anne Davenport and an address in the East Village. It also contained three credit cards, seventy-five dollars in cash and pictures of people she'd never seen before. The purse contained an assortment of items typically found in any woman's purse: a package of Kleenex, a cell phone, a roll of peppermint Life Savers, a notepad and a couple of pens and pencils, a romance novel and a book of crossword puzzles. That was Goren's touch, she knew, and she felt a little reassured.

She checked her bag and made it through security and down to the gate just as they were boarding the plane. Goren was nowhere in sight. With a tight feeling in her gut, she told herself to trust her partner. He had earned that. She also knew with all certainty that he would never do something that would intentionally harm her. Steeling herself, she boarded the plane.

* * *

Eames found her way to her seat and made herself comfortable. Looking out the window, she watched the ground crew load the luggage and ready the plane for departure. What the hell was she doing on a plane bound for London? She had almost talked herself into getting off when someone dropped into the seat beside her. She turned her head and was surprised to find herself looking into a familiar pair of deep brown eyes. He smiled and held out his hand. "Hi. I'm Ben Haughton."

He winked at her and she felt mildly reassured as she slipped her hand into his. "I'm Annie Davenport," she answered.

"Looks like we'll be seatmates for the flight."

She nodded. "Seems so."

He held her eyes, pleading silently for her to be patient and understanding. She barely inclined her head and he relaxed almost imperceptibly.

Eames turned back to the window and watched the ground crew finish their preparations while her partner watched the flight attendants make theirs.

Twenty-five minutes later, the plane was in the air, and Goren visibly relaxed. Eames noticed and asked, "Flying make you nervous?"

He shook his head. He was relieved they were safe, leaving New York behind them. But he answered, "No, but take-offs and landings make me uneasy."

She put on a flirty face. "Oh, if I'd known that I would have held your hand."

He looked surprised, but recovered quickly. "I wish I'd said something then," he replied, and they both smiled.

His smile quickly disappeared, though, and she saw a darkness settle behind his eyes and linger there. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out the crossword book, the notepad and a pen. Opening the notepad, she wrote, _When do I get to find out what's going on?_

She slid the notebook into his hand. He read the note and wrote back, _Not here. Soon._

She let out an annoyed sigh as she slipped the notebook back into her purse. She was surprised when his hand engulfed hers and he squeezed. She looked up and met his eyes. There was something in them that held both promise and reassurance. She knew without a doubt that something major was going down for him to have done what he did. She gave his hand a squeeze back.

A short while later, she asked for a blanket and pillow, and she snuggled down into her seat to try and get some sleep. Beneath the blanket, she sought his hand and fell asleep holding it.

* * *

Goren quietly watched his partner sleep, deeply disturbed by the events of the last twelve hours. He'd been surprised when she grabbed his hand and held it. Now, he absently stroked her thumb with his as his mind wandered. If it hadn't been for Logan, he didn't know where he and Eames would be. For that, he owed his friend and colleague more than he'd be able to repay. At least he and Eames were safe...for now.


	2. En Route

**A/N: This is a very short chapter and for a very good reason. I wanted to let any LOCI/Goren/Eames fans know that there is a movement to express our displeasure with the network and offer a big show of support for Vincent, Katie and Eric Bogosian, who is also being cut out. If anyone is interested in getting involved, please contact me. All it involves is sending email and/or postcards, so it doesn't take a lot of time, and we are hoping to at the very least get our message, and our support, across to TPTB and the actors who matter to us. In the words of Rene Balcer: We will not be ignored!**

* * *

Eames woke halfway through the flight. Her head was resting against her partner's shoulder. He heard the change in her breathing pattern and tipped his head forward to look at her. She moistened her lips and gave him a brief smile. "It wasn't a dream," she said softly.

"Uh, no. It wasn't a dream," he answered back in a soft whisper.

"We're actually on a flight to London?"

He squeezed her hand where it still rested in his, buried beneath the blanket. "Yes."

She kept her voice soft. "Why?"

He looked around. The lights in the cabin were dimmed and many passengers were sleeping, but he was unwilling to risk being overheard by anyone. Softly, he answered, "Not here."

She bit back a sharp reply. She was getting frustrated. No, she left frustrated behind when he rushed her from her home in the dead of night without giving her the explanation she was still waiting for. She sat up, away from him, but she did not release his hand. Instead, she shifted it, entwining her fingers with his and tightening her grip. Patience was not one of her greatest attributes, but she trusted him. So she would wait, for now.

In her mind, she heard again his words from the parking garage, tense and urgent. _You don't know me._ She raised her eyes to meet his. "So, Ben, do you mind if I get to know you?"

He brought his head closer to hers. "I would like that, Annie," he whispered back.

Confused and uncertain, she leaned her head against his. She was also worried and she felt her anger begin to rise in response to the situation. She hated not being in control of her life, and whatever had happened, it had taken that away. Goren's caution also raised her level of alarm. Whatever it was, it had to be something serious to get this kind of reaction from him. She was determined not to unleash her anger on him, certain he had a very good reason for what he'd done. Goren was not an alarmist, and she had a feeling that if this did not involve her, he would not have fled. He was keeping her safe. She continued to study his face, seeing for the first time the deep fatigue in his eyes. But he would not sleep. He was on guard, protecting her. Suddenly, he became more important to her than he had ever been. He was her only connection to her world and she could not let that go.


	3. Why Are We in London?

When the plane began its descent into London's Heathrow Airport, Eames leaned into Goren's arm. She had noticed the increase in his tension. "You okay?"

He wasn't sure how to answer her because he didn't know that he was okay. He was too exhausted to give it much thought, so he simply nodded and patted her hand.

The landing was uneventful, but Eames kept a close eye on her partner as they disembarked from the plane. He was as much on the alert as he'd been in New York, watching for anything that seemed out of place to him. Again, his diligence made her nervous. She nudged him. "I'm going to duck into the restroom."

He gave her a tense nod, standing by as she disappeared into the rest room. While he waited, he pulled out his phone.

* * *

Although Goren acknowledged to her that driving was not the best option for getting around, he felt better having a car available to them. He wouldn't tell her why, but she was going to find out soon. She chose to let him drive, since he'd driven in London before. She wasn't sure just how she felt about driving on the left side of the road, and she didn't quite feel up to giving it a try, especially given the degree of traffic congestion in the old city. She sat by silently, impressed by the ease with which he managed the trip to the Thistle Hyde Park Hotel. Stepping out of the car, she suppressed a smile. She liked the hotel and the area, but she was anxious to find out just _why _they were in London to begin with.

Entering the hotel, they approached the desk and Goren told the clerk he had a reservation for Benjamin Haughton. The clerk looked up the reservation, glancing at Eames, then back to Goren. "Your reservation is for one, sir."

Goren smiled at the young man and winked. "I got lucky," he said, leaning in and hoping Eames didn't hear what he said.

The clerk smiled back and waggled his eyebrows, slipping Goren an extra key.

Turning from the desk, he touched Eames' arm and started to lead her toward the elevators. She had the sense to remain silent, refusing to cause a scene, but he knew from the way she carried herself that she was furious. She waited until the elevator doors closed and they were alone. Then she turned on him. "One room, Goren? _One_ room? And what did you mean by _lucky_?"

"Eames..."

"Don't you dare 'Eames' me..."

He could tell she was about to launch on a tirade citing every wrong he'd ever committed against her. He nipped it in the bud by leaning in, very close. His proximity caught her off guard and she fell into silence for a moment. He took advantage of the momentary lull to say, "I didn't make the reservations, but remember, you're here visiting family. You wouldn't need a hotel room." His voice, already strained, dropped lower. "I'm doing my best."

Her eyes searched his face, but before she could reply, he straightened away from her, several seconds before the elevator doors opened on their floor. Still angry, she followed him to the room. He slipped a keycard into her hand as she went into the room ahead of him. Stopping, she looked around, frowning. She was about at the end of her rope. "_One_ bed, Goren?"

"I-I...uh, sorry, Eames. I...I told you, I didn't book the room."

"Who the hell did?"

"A buddy of mine..."

"A buddy I know?"

He nodded. "Uh, Logan took care of it."

"I'll kill him."

"But...why would a man traveling alone need a room with two beds?" He had a point, but her anger did not fade. He seemed to wither under her glare, something she had seen only rarely, and it disturbed her. But before she could reassure him, he waved a hand in the air. "It's okay, Eames. You can take the bed."

"And where will you sleep?"

He shrugged. "I'll find a place; don't worry about me."

A sudden, disturbing fear welled up from deep inside her. She moved closer and grasped his arm. "No. Don't do that," she insisted, trying to hide her sudden anxiety. She did not particularly want to be parted from him right now. Desperate to change the subject, she searched the room. "This place can't be cheap. And the credit cards in my wallet...props?"

He shook his head. "They're real. They've each got a different line of credit. I'm not sure exactly what they are. I said I didn't care."

"The flight, this hotel, food, everything. This is a lot of money, Goren, and I know you don't have it."

"It's not my money, and that's all I can say right now."

Her hold on her anger was slipping again. "You know, all this cloak and dagger bullshit is beginning to get very, very old. You need to tell me what is going on and you need to do it now."

He moved away from her, nervously trolling around the room. She knew what was happening. He was gathering his thoughts, trying to formulate an explanation that would reassure her without further inciting her anger. She could tell he was not finding the words he needed. His efforts were further stalled by his deep fatigue. He had not slept more than a few hours all weekend and it was catching up with him. "Friday night," he began. "I got a call on my way home, an old friend with a word of warning. No explanation—just 'don't go home.' He's saved my life before and I trust him implicitly."

"And that's why _I'm_ here, because I trust you."

He nodded. "I appreciate that, Eames."

"So what did you find out? Why did your friend tell you not to go home?"

He stopped near the window and placed his hand on the wall. His eyes were looking out across Hyde Park, but his attention was focused within. "I'm afraid I don't have a lot of information. He only called me once more, Sunday afternoon. I had to...call in a bunch of favors...to get us here."

"So...we fled the damn country...and you have no idea _why_?"

He turned his head to look at her. "You know me better than that."

She gestured expectantly. "Well?"

He turned and leaned his back against the wall, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. "We are...wanted, Eames. They have issued warrants for us, in connection with the brutal murders of three cops...one in New York, one in Trenton and one in Baltimore. The, uh, the MOs are unique and almost identical, so they are certain the same perp is responsible for all three murders." His head moved slowly until he was looking at her. "Trace they found at one scene...connects _us_ to all three. Since the perp—presumably one or both of us—crossed state lines, the FBI has thrown its hat in the ring. You can imagine as well as I can the pissing match this is becoming. NYPD wants us because the last vic was one of ours. The FBI wants us, well, because they are the FBI."

She stared at him, disbelief on her face. "You mean...we've been accused, tried and convicted over the last few days without even knowing it?"

"In a nutshell, uh, yes."

Eames ran her fingers through her hair and sat on the edge of the bed. "They found evidence that connects us to the murders...what evidence?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. Ross is trying to get Major Case in on it and Logan is looking for information. I talked to Logan while you were in the restroom at the airport. We got out just in time. They missed us by fifteen minutes at your house. They don't think we're together at this point because I went missing two days ago. They don't know we know they're after us and they don't suspect we've left the country. For the moment, we're safe."

She was quiet for a long time, and he watched her, waiting for some kind of reaction beyond disbelief. When she finally looked at him, he could not read her expression, which was rare for him. Her voice was level. "Why the hell are we in England, Goren?"

He folded his right arm across his chest and propped his left elbow on it, rubbing his face with his hand. "Do you really think we would be safe at home?"

"Why not some remote cabin in West Virginia or Montana?"

"They're looking for us back there, Eames. No one is looking for us here."

"Is there more to this than you're telling me?"

He looked at the floor. "If there is, it's nothing that I know for certain."

She sensed there was indeed more to this than he was saying, whether he was certain or not, and she resented being dragged into it either way. "I swear, if you don't tell me..."

He raised both hands. "I am as much in limbo as you are, believe me. Until I hear from Logan or one of my contacts, I don't know anything more."

"Aren't you afraid of implicating Logan?"

"The second I am, I'll terminate contact. Right now, we're both using no name cell phones, and they don't know he tipped us off. He knows to be careful."

"Why England?" she asked, not quite as irritated.

He looked at the floor, both arms folded over his chest. When he did speak, he didn't look up, and his voice was soft. "Six months ago, you told me if you ever had a chance, you wanted to take a vacation in England. That's why I chose London. I feel bad about having to do this, so...I chose a place you would like." After a long pause, he added, "I really don't try to disrupt your life or upset you, Eames."

She stared at him but he didn't look up. Without saying another thing, she went into the bathroom. He looked up after he heard the door close. He hated being at odds with her, but he did not regret what he had done. They were safe; _she_ was safe. He loosened his tie and undid the top buttons, slipped off his shoes and sat in the chair by the window. Propping his feet on the other chair, he leaned his head back to think as he waited for Eames to come back into the room. While he waited, fatigue prevented him from focusing his thoughts and they spiraled in many different directions. By the time Eames came back into the room, he was sleeping.

She sat lightly on the edge of the bed and watched his face. The only sound in the room was his deep, even breathing. She was still somewhat shaken by everything that had transpired over the past twelve or so hours, and she, too, felt drained. Stretching out on the bed, she continued to watch him and listen to his even breathing. Before long, she, too, slept.


	4. More Details Emerge

It was near dawn when Eames woke, and it was raining. Just above the sound of the rain, though, she heard Goren's voice. His volume was low, so he wouldn't wake her, but she knew from his tone that he was angry.

She opened her eyes, looking across the bed, still perfectly made. He actually had slept in that damn chair all night long. She rolled over and watched his silhouette by the window. As the sky outside began to lighten, dispelling the shadows in the room, she watched him. Although she'd never thought otherwise, the open binder in his lap was a stark reminder that they were not on vacation. He was turned away from her, so she could not see his face, but his back and shoulders were tense.

As she slid out of bed, he said into the phone, "Anything else?"

He paused as he listened and wrote, then he said, "All right. Keep me informed. And, Mike...watch your back, man."

Another pause, and he said, "She's fine. Pissed as all hell at me, but fine."

He closed his binder and muttered, "Right."

He snapped the phone closed, placed it on the windowsill and looked out the window. Propping his elbow by the phone, he pressed his hand against mouth. It was telling to her that he didn't notice she was awake. She approached and rested her hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to look at her, but his expression was haunted. "Sleep well?"

"Fine, but don't even try to tell me you did."

He shrugged. "I was fine."

She squeezed his shoulder, then pulled up the other chair and sat down. "Look, we are adults here. I don't know about you, but I am pretty sure I will sleep just fine with you in the bed next to me."

He looked down at the binder in his lap. "I just talked to Logan. You aren't going to like this at all."

She hated the way he avoided subjects. She made a face to express her disapproval but, as usual, she let him get away with it. "Why? What did he have to say?"

He flipped open his binder. "The trace they found at the scene in New York...they, uh, revisited the evidence from Baltimore and Trenton...found the same trace." He tapped his finger on the page in front of him. "Fibers that match the carpet in my living room and your bedroom. A couple of hairs that have been identified as yours...one of them has an intact root."

Her face darkened. "From my _bedroom_...and hair...that came from..."

He nodded. "Probably from your hairbrush."

Her mouth set in a tight line, she said, "I am sick and tired of people breaking into my fucking house!"

"I know..."

"I swear, I'm going to get a really big dog and I'm going to train him to eat anyone who comes into my house without my okay!"

"Eames..."

"Maybe I'll get two of them. I.."

He reached out and touched her chin. "Eames...listen to me." She halted her tirade at his touch and looked at him. He continued, "This wasn't a novice serial killer or someone seeking revenge. This was a professional job."

"Professional?"

He nodded as he withdrew his hand from her chin. "We were set up by someone who knew what the hell they were doing. This was no ordinary frame-up. What they didn't expect was for us to find out ahead of time. That caught them very off-guard, and they've stepped up their efforts to find us." He paused. "They're waiting for you to make contact with your family, Eames. Logan met with your dad in the city, gave him a heads' up so he won't worry when he doesn't hear from you."

She studied his face as she digested the information he'd just given her. "What did my dad say?"

He averted his eyes, the way he always did when he was embarrassed about something. "He said...as long as you were with me, he wouldn't worry."

Her face relaxed into a soft smile that he did not see. "My dad likes you, with good reason."

He fiddled with his pen. "They're still looking for us in the States," he said. "They've extended the search beyond the Tri-State area, but they're still looking in the Northeast."

"Suppose they figure out we left the country?"

"Then Interpol will be looking for us, too."

"How do we get out of this?"

Finally, he looked at her. "We have to put our...trust...in others," he said with difficulty.

She noticed the trouble he had with the word 'trust'. "That doesn't come easy to you, relinquishing control and trusting someone else."

He looked away again. "No. It doesn't."

She sat still, waiting. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. They sat in silence as she waited for him to say something. Finally, in a voice of quiet reluctance, he said, "I trust you."

"What about your buddies?"

He rolled his pen in his fingers. "That's different. Under the circumstances, I have to trust them to take care of things. They owe me. But you...I trust you under any circumstances...and you owe me nothing."

"What about Mike Logan?"

He nodded slowly. "Mike came back into all this for me. If there's any way to get us out of this, he'll find it."

She tucked her hair behind her ear. "What about ballistics? Did they come back to us?"

He shook his head. "There were no ballistics. None of the victims were shot."

"So how were they killed?"

"The official cause of death was strangulation, but before they died..." His hand curled into a fist around his pen. "All Logan would tell me is that they were tortured. He refused to go into details. But, there's more..." He closed his eyes and rubbed them with one hand, then ran his hand over his hair. "All the victims...they were female...blond, on the petite side...just like..." He trailed off, keeping his eyes on the floor.

She studied him, and he didn't have to complete his thought. "Just like...Nicole?"

He nodded slowly. "They...they went to see Declan, to get his thoughts because he knows me so well. Ross demanded that Mike accompany them. Dec...he laughed...told them they didn't have a chance. His opinion is that I finally snapped because he never gave me closure after he killed Nicole, and that I've taken you with me." He paused again, deciding against telling her exactly what Declan told the agents. Yes, Eames was with him, but not for the reason Dec thought. "Dec says you're staying with me out of loyalty, that you think you might be able to control me. The FBI says three murders isn't control, and that you are in complicity."

"I can't believe they talked to Gage."

Goren shrugged. "He does know me."

"He's not in his right mind any more."

"I won't argue with that, but I do concede that he knows me better than anyone."

Her eyes narrowed. "Not if he thinks you snapped, he doesn't. No one is closer to you than I am."

He nodded again, silently agreeing with her. She did know him better than even Gage did, but it was Gage who set him on the path that led to his becoming a profiler rather than a brilliant enigma for other profilers to attempt to unravel.

Eames reached out and grasped his hand. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, he raised his eyes, and she could read a mix of uncertainty and fear in them. She scooted the chair closer and he leaned back, away from her. "I...This is my fault," he said, once again averting his eyes. "You would be home, playing with your nephew, if it wasn't for me. Now...Now you're on the run, involved in whatever the hell this is...all because of me."

As true as his statements were, she felt a need to reassure him. He had no control over what had happened, and if he had not acted when he did, there was no telling where they would be now. She touched his cheek, glad he did not pull away, and leaned in closer. "What happened isn't your fault, but what _didn't_ happen...well, that _is_ all because of you. We're safe at the moment because you sensed the danger and acted." Her voice became softer. "You are my partner. Whatever happens, I won't forget that. I've got your back, and you can count on me."

He raised his eyes to meet hers, very close, and he gave her a brief nod. "Thank you, Eames."

She held his gaze, inexplicably drawn to him. Unexpectedly, he looked away, pulling back from her as he closed his binder and turned to the window. "Uhm, they're going to find us a safe house, outside the city." He looked around the room. "A place with...with two bedrooms."

She laughed a little and rose, reaching out to rest her hand on his shoulder. "Lay down; get some decent sleep, and I'll go out to get us something to eat."

"I don't think..."

She laid her fingers lightly against his lips. His eyes slid closed. "I'll be fine," she promised. "Lay down. I'll be back in a little while."

He had trouble opening his eyes. She tugged on his arm. "Come on."

Reluctantly, he allowed her to lead him over to the bed. He sat on the edge and rested his hands on his knees. When she began to unbutton his shirt, he tensed and pulled away, finally looking at her. "Eames..."

"Are you going to lay down and get some rest?"

She could tell he hadn't had anywhere near enough rest, and he needed it if he was going to stay sharp. She pressed her hands into his shoulders until he finally relented and laid on the bed. She gave him a smile of encouragement and stroked his hair until his eyes finally closed. She dressed quickly and pulled on her jacket. Grabbing the phone Goren had set on the windowsill after talking to Logan, she hurried out of room.

Once in the lobby of the hotel, she placed a call to Logan. "Hey, man, you gotta give me a little time..."

"I'm not Goren, Logan."

"Eames...oh, uh, is Goren okay?"

"He's fine. I left him in the room sleeping. How did you get involved in this, Mike? You walked away. You left this world behind."

"Do we ever really leave it behind, Alex? Besides, he needs me. You both do."

The mark of a true friend... "Are we really safe here, Mike?"

"For the time being, yeah, you're okay."

"And you...you aren't putting yourself at risk, are you?"

"At the moment, no. I'm following Ross' lead. And I have an inside line to the Bureau that I'm trying to open."

"Ross does know that we're innocent, doesn't he?"

"He does, actually. When he first got word, I expected he'd flip a gasket, and he did...it just wasn't the gasket I expected. He was all over that FBI team, ripping 'em both a new one. I swear, I never saw him fight so hard for Goren. I suppose he likes Goren better than he likes the Bureau."

"Does he know where we are?"

"No, but he knows you're running, and I think he knows I know where you are. He hasn't asked, but he's not stupid. He knows Goren and I are friends. I don't have too many good ones, and I won't let him, or you, go down without a fighting chance."

"Thanks, Mike. So who's your inside line to the Bureau?"

"Don't worry. It's someone I trust. I'm not so sure how long I'll be able to fly under the radar. But my contact should be able to get by longer. So either way, we're going to stay in touch."

"Do we know your FBI contact?"

"Uh, yeah, you know her. It's Barek, my old partner."

"She went back to the Bureau?"

"About six months ago. We've got a good team we're getting into place. We'll get you guys out of this mess as soon as we can." He paused. "Are you guys okay?"

She understood the meaning of his question. "I don't know. He's on edge, of course. He blames himself for all of this. Do you know anything about how this came about?"

"Not yet, but it's obvious now that someone's out to get Goren. You just got caught in the middle of it."

She nodded. "That's what I thought. Look, Mike, you let me know if there is anything I can do to help him out of this."

"You're in this just as deep."

"You don't understand." Logan might be friends with her partner, but that didn't mean he understood the way he was. "Is there anything else I need to know? Anything you haven't told Bobby?"

The prolonged silence led her to believe their connection had been lost. "Logan?"

"I'm here. You can't tell him, Alex. Not yet. This'd put him on the next plane back to New York. "

"What is it?"

"We aren't sure, but we think that Gage is somehow involved. Ross is going to talk to him tomorrow, because Gage knows him. We'll see where that gets us."

"You think Gage did this?"

"We think he had a hand in it, yes. But how or why? You got me. Maybe Ross can find something out. In the meantime, you need to stay safe. Both of you."

"I will do the best I can, Mike."

"I understand. Bye, Alex."

She closed the phone and slipped it into her pocket before she stepped out into the rain.


	5. Rising Tension

When Eames returned to the room after walking in the rain for the better part of the morning, she was glad to find Goren still asleep. He needed the sleep. Silently, she changed into dry clothes and placed his phone back on the windowsill where he'd left it.

Her body was still getting used to the time change, and the emotional upheaval of the past two days still weighed heavily on her. She walked around the bed and lightly laid down beside him. Sleep came quickly.

* * *

He woke slowly, which was unusual for him. Gradually, he became aware of the other person in the bed, curled into his side, which was not unusual...until recently. As sleep slid away from his brain, realization dawned slowly. He couldn't remember the last time he took a woman into his bed, and he knew he'd been in the bed alone when he went to sleep.

As the grogginess of sleep cleared, everything came back to him. He was in England, with Eames, and now she was in the bed beside him, snuggled into his side. He remained still, not knowing what to do. She made a soft sound and shifted away from him, and he seized the chance to get off the bed. She might not have a problem sleeping in the bed with him, but he had a definite problem being in the same bed with her. He went into the bathroom to get in the shower.

* * *

Eames woke while Goren was showering. She stretched and took a few deep breaths. She still felt the same uncertainty that had plagued her since Goren had dragged her off to the airport, but she counted herself lucky to have him. Maybe he did complicate her life, but he enriched it so much more. She did not want to imagine what her life would be like without him in it.

She got up and went to the window, looking out across the park as darkness settled over the city. She turned when the bathroom door opened. Goren came into the room wearing only a towel. He stopped when he saw that she was up. "I, uh...sorry. I forgot my bag."

He grabbed it and hurried back into the bathroom. It didn't take a mind reader to see his discomfort. She also couldn't help noticing...him. His broad chest and shoulders, glistening with moisture from his shower, how the dampness tightened the curls in his hair.

She leaned back against the wall and waited for him to come back into the room. Finally, he did. He remained across the room, looking at her. She broke the uncomfortable silence. "Are you hungry?"

"Not terribly."

"Well, I am. Neither one of us has eaten since the flight, and I think we should head out now and find ourselves a meal."

He nodded. "Okay, Eames, whatever you want to do."

"Oh, and I have another problem."

"What's that?"

"See my bag over there?"

He looked toward the bed, where her bag sat on the floor at the foot of it. "Uh, yes. What about it?"

"Do you think I have enough in that bag for any kind of stay away from home?"

He looked from the bag to her. She had packed in a huge hurry, and he realized she wouldn't have everything she needed. "The credit cards I gave you? Use them. That's what they're for."

"And where is that money coming from?"

"I told you, Eames. Don't worry about it. Get whatever you need."

She wasn't sure exactly where to steer the argument, but she let the money debate drop. "Right now, I need food. Let me change and we'll get going."

He nodded and crossed the room toward the window, not looking at her when they passed each other. When the bathroom door closed, he called Logan, who answered the phone with a whisper. "Hey, I can't talk right now. There's some shit going down. I'll call you back."

"I'll be waiting."

He closed the phone and sat down, lost in thought. He hated being so far away from the action, but he'd had a bad feeling that being close to the action would be hazardous to his partner's health. So he was stuck in another land, relying on Logan and Ross to figure out what the hell was going on. He knew that there was no way he would ever have gotten Eames to safety if he had not come with her. The job, the thrill of the chase and the stimulation that came with outthinking another person...all that had lost out to something that had surprised him as being much more important: Eames. His loyalties had been torn from the start, but ultimately, he had chosen Eames.

Eames stepped out of the bathroom, straightening her shirt. "I definitely need to get some sweaters. Maybe a heavier coat..."

She stopped talking when she realized he wasn't listening. With a deep sigh, she walked over to him and nudged him. He looked at her, almost surprised to see her. She shook her head. "I really enjoy talking to myself, you know. It's so good for my ego to be ignored."

"I'm sorry. I...never mind. Are you ready to go?"

"Did you talk to Logan? What's wrong?"

He stood up and moved past her. "He was busy. He'll call me back."

"Hold on a minute. Before we go anywhere, you need to talk to me. What is wrong with you?"

He rubbed his eyebrow. "That's a complicated question without an easy answer, Eames."

"All right, let me be more specific: Why are you treating me like I have the plague?"

He was irritating her again. That seemed to be inevitable over the last couple of years. Everything he did hit a nerve with her. Normally, he would withdraw, beating a fast retreat to a safe corner, physically or mentally. Under the circumstances, though, that wasn't possible. "I didn't mean..."

He was caught completely offguard when she hit him with both hands and shoved, hard. He stumbled backward, into a wall, and she pinned him there. He knew he could easily overpower her, but he did not want to get into a physical fight with her. She could play dirty and he was uncomfortable enough. So he let her keep him pinned to the wall. "Now talk," she demanded, her voice as close to a snarl as he'd ever heard it.

He stopped himself just short of asking for details. The look on her face told him that was a dangerous course to take. "I was...surprised...when I, uh, when I woke up."

"Because I was laying in the bed, too?"

"Not just in the bed, Eames. You were..." He trailed off, uncomfortable.

"...touching you?"

His brow furrowed and he shifted uncomfortably. She did not remove her hands from his shoulders, keeping him firmly in place. His eyes left her face, but then he couldn't find a place to focus. Looking down, he could see down her shirt, and that wasn't right. So he looked over her head, but she didn't like that and she shoved her hips forward, slamming into him, and that didn't do anything to help matters. "It's not...it's just not right."

"Why? I was sleeping. Was I doing something wrong?"

"No. No, you weren't."

"Then _what's_ the problem?"

He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Eames..."

"Do you have a problem with _me_?"

He shook his head and looked at her again. "No, but just...let me sleep in the chair, will you?"

She didn't move and he swallowed hard. She curled her hands into fists. "Are we both adults or aren't we?"

"Yes, but..."

"But nothing. Now I am starving and we are going to get a nice meal. And when it's time to go to bed, we'll both be adults about it and sleep in the bed. Got it?"

He studied her face, and he knew better than to argue. Silent, he gave her a brief nod. Slowly, she relaxed her hands and stepped away from him. He stayed where he was while she pulled on her coat. "Ready?" she asked.

He nodded again and followed her out of the room.

* * *

As they walked away from the hotel, Eames said, "How does French sound?"

He still hadn't recovered his voice and he shrugged. She looked at him, but decided it wasn't worth a fight to upset him any further. So she said, "Good. Let's go through the park. I saw a nice place this morning at the Dorcester." Her face took on a suspicious look. "Do you speak French?"

"Just a little."

"Enough to order a meal to impress your date?"

He cringed at the word 'date' but gave a nod and added, "And to ask 'your place or mine.'"

She laughed, and he seemed to relax a little. "How many languages can you ask that in?"

He smiled a little. "About twenty, if you count American Sign Language."

She laughed again, and when she slid her arm into his, he didn't pull away.

They were halfway across the park when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open. "Yeah?"

"I am so sorry, man."

"About what?"

"Someone had the brilliant idea to see just how serious the Feds are."

"Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah. Carolyn and I weren't involved in it. I'm not sure where the idea came from. Somebody deliberately leaked word to the feds that you guys were over at your place."

He stopped walking, not noticing that Eames released his arm to let him turn and start to pace. "What happened?"

"No one saw this coming. The Feds showed up before dawn and shot the place up. Then, when they went in and saw no one was there, they went nuts. It was a real scramble for them to explain themselves when Ross showed up."

Eames became concerned when his face turned dark with fury. "My neighbors have little kids! What the hell?! Was anyone hurt?"

"No one but your houseplants. I won't have to water them now. They busted the place up pretty good. Barek and I started cleaning up after work. I don't know what's going on, buddy, but the Feds want you bad, and they want you dead. You sure pissed someone off but good."

"I want you away from this, Mike. Do not stick your neck out for me, do you understand? You and Barek both. Get the hell away from this now."

"Hey, they have no idea..."

"But they'll get an idea! Don't be stupid!"

Eames grabbed his arm and he shoved the phone into her hand with a growl, moving away from her. She put the phone to her ear and watched him. "Mike?"

"He's pissed, isn't he?"

"Very. What happened?"

"The feds shot up his place this morning, then busted the place up in a rage."

She frowned, watching her partner trying to calm himself. "He's worried about you and Barek."

"Just between us, so am I. We're lying low, and Ross is trying to find out what's going on."

"Be careful, Logan."

"We will. Tell him Ross came unglued on the feds. It was beautiful."

"I will."

She closed the phone and slipped it into her coat pocket. Then she approached Goren. "Bobby..."

He spun toward her. "My neighbors have kids, Eames! They felt more secure with a cop living next door! What if those trigger-happy bastards had hurt or killed one of those kids?!"

She reached out and grabbed his arm. To her surprise, he spun toward her and pulled her roughly against him, holding her close. She rested her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around him. He was shaking, and she tightened her arms around him, holding him until he calmed down. He buried his face in her neck, breathing deeply. She slipped her arms inside his jacket and rubbed his back. "Come on. Let's go to the restaurant and you can settle down."

He wasn't quick to release her, but by the time he did, he was no longer shaking. She grasped his hand, which he did not pull away, and they continued through the park.

* * *

The waiter brought their meals as he finished his third drink. He'd turned into himself and she let him go for a little while. When he made no move to touch his plate, she reached over and shook his knee. He looked up from his glass and she nodded at the plate by his elbow. "Eat."

"Eames, I made a mistake."

She reached out and moved his plate in front of him. "What mistake was that?"

"I should never have left. I should have sent you here with Lewis or Logan. I...I should go back."

"No," she insisted with as much authority as she could muster. "Absolutely not. You are staying here with me, do you hear me? Dammit, you are staying _here_!"

He stared at her, more unsettled by the bright tears in her eyes than he was by the command in her tone. "Eames..." he began in his reasonable tone.

She pointed her fork at him and snarled in a furious whisper, "Don't you _dare_ try to convince me you're right because you're not. Do you remember what I told you about being your partner? I've got your back, and damn you, I need you here to have mine! You dragged me over 3000 miles from home and I went with you, no questions asked! Now, you're going to keep your ass here with me, or so help me, the feds won't have enough of you left to shoot!"

As inclined as he was to protect her, he fully realized that now, she was protecting him. He sat there in silence, just looking at her. Her eyes were blazing, but beneath the anger, he could hear her fear, and he knew she wasn't afraid for herself. She was afraid for him. She held out her hand, and he slid his hand into it. She nodded briefly and squeezed before she released it. "Now eat."

* * *

Eames knew there was no point in returning to the hotel. All Goren would do was pace a path into the carpet. So she insisted they take a walk around the city and he didn't argue with her. They spent hours, just walking. She didn't try to force conversation. She just walked with him and left him alone with his thoughts.

Well after midnight, it began to rain and the temperature dropped more than ten degrees. Goren was not so lost in his head that he didn't notice when she began to shiver. He shrugged off his jacket and draped it around her. "Let's go back."

"We don't have to..."

"I'm all right," he insisted. "Thank you."

She looked up at him, blinking the rain from her eyes. He gave her a soft smile. "I know why you wanted to walk around the city and it wasn't to sightsee, not in the middle of the night." He touched her back. "We can go back to the hotel."

His smile reassured her and she linked her arm through his. "We'll get through this, Bobby."

"I hope so, Eames."

They walked back toward Hyde Park in the dark and the rain. Once they got back to the hotel, she took a fast, hot shower to warm up while he changed into dry clothes. He was sitting by the window when she came out of the bathroom, and she pulled the other chair up beside him. "A penny for your thoughts."

He looked at her. "Save your money, Eames. You know what's on my mind."

"Logan and Barek..."

He nodded. "And Ross. Eames, they're taking a huge risk, and it's all for me. If something happens..."

"They know what they're doing. Are you upset because they're at risk or because you aren't?"

When he didn't answer, she challenged, "Why are you here, Goren?"

That wasn't a question he wanted to answer. It wasn't one he felt he had to answer. "Go to bed, Eames."

She reached out and grabbed his arm. "Come on."

When he balked, she got more firm. "You are _not _going to sleep in this damn chair...unless you want me to sleep in _this_ one."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Right back atcha, big guy. Now come on."

She refused to give in, so finally, he did—with every intention of returning to the chair once she was asleep. She slid in between the sheets, shaking her head when he stretched out on top of the bedspread. She rolled over onto her side and watched him. He arched an eyebrow. "What?"

"Not cold?"

"No. It's warm in here."

"Really? I think it's kind of cool."

He reached out and rested his hand against her forehead. "You feel a little warm," he said, his face dark with concern.

She made a noise of dismissal. "Forget it. I never get sick."

"Go to sleep. I should find out about that safe house some time tomorrow or the next day."

She studied his face for a long time. "Do I scare you, Bobby?"

"Sometimes."

She smiled and snuggled into the pillows. He turned onto his side to face her, tucking one arm under the pillow beneath his head. She smiled. "Why?"

"Because you can be...uh, intimidating when you're angry. I don't like making you angry, but I seem to be awfully good at it."

She reached out and closed her hand around his, giving him a sleepy smile as she stroked his thumb with hers. "If I didn't care about you, I would never get mad at you."

"That's some incentive."

Her smile widened a little. "It's a good thing, Bobby." She slid closer to him and rested her head against his chest. She didn't notice that he tensed when she made contact with him. "We have a good thing," she murmured, her voice nearly a whisper.

She snuggled against him, her head tucked under his chin. She did not release his hand. Slowly, his tension faded as her breathing evened out. He released her hand and draped his arm over her. "Yes, we do," he whispered.

He pressed his lips into her hair then rested his cheek against her head. It wasn't long before he, too, slept.


	6. Seeking Understanding

The ringing phone was insistent, and it wasn't going to stop until he answered it. He rolled away from Eames, out of her arms and off the bed. Grabbing the phone, he flipped it open. "What?" he growled, his voice rough with sleep.

"Well, good morning to you, too."

"For your information, it's not dawn yet here. It's, uh, four in the morning."

"Ah...I forgot about the time difference. Sorry, man. Did I interrupt something?"

The hopeful note in his voice annoyed Goren. "Just my sleep."

"Good dream?

"No. Did you call me for a reason, Logan?"

"Nah. I just wanted to bother you." He laughed. "Just kidding. I wanted you to know that the feds went out to talk to Eames' folks yesterday. They're watching them, and probably her sister, too. I wouldn't be surprised if they tapped the phones. I'm gonna send someone out to give them a heads' up."

"How?"

"Glenn's gonna go out and fix their sink."

"Tell him to give them a message for me. Let them know that Alex is fine and I'm going to do everything in my power to keep her safe."

"Will do. The feds have a team sitting outside her house, so Barek and I can't go near the place. Ross told 'em to back off her parents but they're not gonna listen to him. Right now, they have it in their heads that if they can get a lead on her, she'll bring 'em right to you. They're already suspicious of me, so I have to be careful what I do out in the open and who I'm seen with." He paused for a minute. "Now for the real news...they said they found another body, north of the city. Same MO. They figure you did her on your way out of town. They found fibers, same as before, and fingerprints this time, from both of you. They won't let us see any of the evidence, though, except the coroner's report. Based on the time of death, you guys were halfway across the Atlantic when you supposedly offed her. I told Ross there was no way you could have done it, and he's on his way over there now to raise hell."

Goren scrubbed his hand over his face. "Who knows where we are, besides you?"

"No one. I did what you asked and I haven't told any of your buddies where you are, and none of them have asked. Barek and Ross haven't asked, either. I think Ross is afraid to find out. All he wants to know is that you're both safe."

"Just...be smart, Mike."

"I don't owe these jokers a damn thing, Bobby. Don't worry about me. I'm just borrowing a badge to get you home safe."

"I don't know how to thank you for that, but only put yourself out so far."

"Hey, I'm totally comfortable pissing people off. Go on back to bed and I'll talk to you later."

"Watch your back."

He closed the phone and placed it back on the windowsill, then he sat by the window and pinched the bridge of his nose. _Son of a bitch..._

He heard movement across the room, from the bed. "Bobby?"

Rising, he returned to her. "I'm right here."

"Did I hear the phone? Why did Logan call so early?"

"He forgot about the time difference."

"What did he want?"

He stretched out beside her. "They found another body, north of the city. Same MO, only they have fingerprints to go with the fibers. Based on time of death, we were somewhere over the North Atlantic when we killed her."

"Dumbasses," she murmured as she nestled into his side.

He slipped a protective arm around her. He'd tell her about her parents tomorrow, in the light of day. For now, he'd let her sleep. He rested his cheek against her head and his thoughts drifted to another one of his buddies. Timber Mulligan was strategically laying a trail across New England. It was vague enough to be something else entirely, but enticing enough to draw the feds into a pursuit. Timber was a master of the wild goose chase, and he was full of mischief. As he drifted off, his mind was lost in the memory of another one of Timber's chases, only that goose ended up being particularly sweet when caught...

* * *

When Goren woke again, Eames was still pressed against him, held in place by his arm. Her hair hid most of her face, and he brushed it out of the way. She had a beautiful face, especially when she wasn't scowling in anger or frowning in disapproval at him. Her eyelids fluttered and opened, and she looked at him. She grinned. "Good morning."

He unfolded his arm from around her. "Good morning."

She rolled onto her back and stretched. "Was I dreaming or did Logan call during the night?"

He watched her stretch and roll off the bed. "Uh, yeah...yeah, he called. He said he forgot about the time difference."

"And you don't believe him," she asserted as she disappeared into the bathroom.

He used the time she was out of sight to relax and compose himself. He didn't know how she flustered him, just that she did. He pulled out clean clothes and when she came out of the bathroom, he went in for a quick shower. She dressed and waited for him. When he came out, he said, "Are you ready for breakfast?"

"Are you going to tell me what Logan said?"

He was reluctant, and that annoyed her, but he cut off her irritation by closing his hand around her arm and guiding her to the bed. He sat and gave her arm a gentle tug until she sat beside him. "The feds, uh, they're bothering your family. They think that your folks or your sister will lead them to you and if they find you, you will lead them to me."

She studied his face. "What the hell did you do, Bobby? Why are they after you like this?"

He released her arm and turned away with a shrug. "I don't know. I just...when I found out, I knew they would go after you. I also know...I know how far-reaching they can be. That's why I had to, uh, smuggle us out of the country, before they shut down the airports to us. I..." He seemed embarrassed. "I had to keep you safe, but I knew you would never leave without me. So I had to leave Logan in the crosshairs."

She was quiet for a moment before she repeated her question. "What did you do?"

He got up and began to pace, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, Eames."

"Tell me, dammit!"She watched him pace for a few moments before adding, "I have a right to know. Whether I'm involved or not, you involved not only me, but my family. Now _tell_ me what happened."

He sat in the chair by the window and held his head in his hands. After a minute, she rose from the bed and walked to the other chair, sitting and reaching out to grab his arms. He finally lifted his head and looked at her. "I don't know, Eames, but whatever happened, the feds moved fast to get a lot of evidence in place against us," he murmured. "Four years ago, I would have gone to Deakins and Carver when my buddy called me, but I no longer have that option. I guess...I don't trust Ross enough. I won't say I panicked, but my first thought was getting you away, someplace far away and undeniably safe. I called Logan, because I knew I could rely on him. I called in some old favors from men I trust. But I can't follow up on anything from here and it's driving me crazy."

She slid her hands down his arms and closed them around his hands. "If you go home, they'll kill you."

He nodded. "It seems so, yes."

"And you don't know why?"

"No."

"The murders they are after us for...?"

He shook his head. "The feds will not let Major Case see any of the evidence. I...I've given this a lot of thought...and, I don't think there _were _any murders."

"But an NYPD cop..."

"Logan's looking into it, but neither of us think he'll find anything. I don't think she ever existed."

"So the department is all up in arms over the murder of one of their own who never existed?"

"That's what I think, yes."

She shook her head and leaned back, releasing his hands. "I don't get this." She remembered what Logan had said about Gage, and she asked, "Do you think Gage has anything to do with this?"

He gave that some thought. The look of grief that settled on his face caused an iron fist to grip her heart and she wished she could take back the question. "I don't know," he answered in a quiet voice. "It wasn't something..." He trailed off, then finally finished his thought without looking at her. "I didn't want to consider it, but...yeah...he might have something to do with it."

She wanted to reach out and hold him, to chase away the things that haunted him, but he rose and walked across the room, grabbing his wallet and slipping it into his jeans. "Come on, Eames. I owe you a shopping trip."

She watched him walk to the door and stop to wait. He'd ended the conversation, but since she'd upset him, she let it go. She did not understand his relationship with Gage at all, but for some reason, the demented old man was important to her partner, in spite of all he'd done.

She grabbed the purse he'd given her, reflecting over how much she liked it. He might have had to buy it on the spur of the moment, but he chose a bag he knew she'd love.

As she crossed the room, she recalled what other cops had told her about Goren after she'd been rescued from Jo Gage. It spoke volumes to her that her partner had turned on his old mentor, the man who meant so much to him, when he thought Gage was responsible for her disappearance. She stopped beside him, her eyes moist, and she clamped a hand on his arm. When he looked at her, she leaned up and kissed his cheek. Then she pulled the door open and left the room.

He frowned and stood where he was. _What was that for?_ He wondered if he'd ever understood her as he followed her from the room, struggling to find his way with her once again.

* * *

They stopped for breakfast before heading out to shop. She was actually looking forward to shopping, which was something she didn't get to do very often. She still couldn't get a straight answer from him about who was paying for it, and he'd sworn it wasn't coming from his own pay. Whoever had supplied the money was well able to afford it, he promised, asking that she get what she wanted and not feel guilty about it.

When they were done eating, as they sat over coffee, she decided to find out if he was as good at understanding his own psyche as he was at understanding the criminal mind. "Bobby, there's something I don't understand."

"What's that?"

"I don't understand your attachment to Gage, especially after all he's done to you."

"Not _to _me, Eames. _For _me. In his own warped way, he thought he was helping me. He's deranged." He waved a hand at his head. "His mind has been damaged and he can no longer tell right from wrong."

"So you've forgiven him for killing Nicole, for Frank's death?"

He looked into his coffee and didn't answer. He wasn't sure he had forgiven Gage, even if he did understand what had happened to him. After a few minutes, when it became obvious that he wasn't going to answer her, she said, "Explain this to me, then. What did Gage do to earn this level of loyalty and devotion from you?"

He rubbed his hand over his face and let out a long, slow breath. "He was the father I never had, Eames. I _mattered _to him. He was a good man when I first met him. Obsessive, yes, but not the way he is now. Back then, I was...out of control, to an extent. There were definite, uh, criminal tendencies in my head, in my behavior. Even though I was CID, I was still capable of, well, being bad. Over time, there's a very good chance I would have gone that way. Gage saw that in me, but he also saw the good, and the potential. He saw what he called a 'brilliant mind that has been mishandled by the people who should have nurtured it.' My parents, in other words. He always said I grew up in the kind of home that gave birth to serial killers. Knowing now who my father was, I would say the potential for me to follow that path was even more likely. But there was something else, something Gage saw, that overcame both nature and nurture in me. He saw the 'good guy' in me, the intelligence and understanding that exists in a natural-born profiler—or a natural-born criminal mastermind. He said if I had gone that way, I would never have been caught. Gage set me on the other path. He spent hours and hours teaching me, nurturing me...being a _father_ to me. And over time, he saw the rebirth of a profiler..._and_ a serial killer. He only chose to recognize one because he never saw the other for what she was until it was way too late."

Eames listened to what he said, and she tried to see it all from his point of view. A veil suddenly fell away from her eyes and she saw him more clearly than she ever had. She'd never realized that the man she knew so well had come so close to being her prey instead of her partner. And she owed it to Declan Gage that he walked by her side instead of running from her. It was bad enough that he retreated from her emotionally. Knowing him as well as she did, she saw the truth in what Gage had told him. If he had become a criminal, he would never have been caught. She sighed heavily. "This isn't fair. How am I supposed to feel?"

He frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Declan Gage is responsible for creating the serial killer who almost ended my life _and_ the man who has made my life worth living. What do I do with that?"

"I...I don't know what to tell you, Eames."

"I hated him for what he did and what happened to me because of it. I hated him for what he did to you, for orchestrating Frank's murder and taking away any chance you ever had to bring Nicole to justice for her crimes and finally get closure with her. I hated him for framing you for Frank's murder, for putting you through all of that. And now...now I can't completely hate him because he is responsible for _you_, for the good man you've become. Do you know how angry that makes me?"

He cringed, not sure he could handle her anger any more. Just the thought of her being angry with him was enough to make him want to go back to New York and face whatever the feds had in store for him. Then she would be safe _and_ rid of the source of so much anger.

She saw him cringe, and for a change, she correctly interpreted the emotion behind it. When she reached toward him, he pulled back, and she bit her lower lip. "Don't do this," she said, holding out her hand to him. "Please..."

He looked at her hand, then at her face. There was no trace of anger in her amber eyes. He felt something inside break loose and his fear disintegrated. He closed his hand around hers and gave her a smile. When she saw the smile in his eyes, she returned it. He drew her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. "Come on, Eames. Let's take you shopping."

* * *

Early that afternoon, Logan called back. Goren leaned against the wall outside the changing rooms where Eames was, listening as Logan filled him in. "Hey, I thought you'd want to know that the chief's office and the local Bureau office are at each other's throats over your partner's family. They're also pulling punches over the evidence that the bureau won't share. Ross accused them of not having any evidence, and they closed ranks. It's a real clusterfuck. How's Eames?"

"She's fine. What happened with her family?"

"Nothing much. John said don't worry; they're fine. We have a team watching the agents who are watching them. What are you guys up to?"

"She's shopping. Tell Poser we're using his money."

Logan laughed. "That's why he gave it to you, man. But I'll tell him."

"What did Ross get from Declan?"

"Nothing that made any sense. Something about roses in the spring and blood on the thorns."

Goren was quiet for a moment. "Let me give that some thought. Mike, do you think there were actually any murders?"

"Honestly, no, and neither does Ross. That third victim, the one they said was NYPD...files were planted giving her a 'history' with us, but when we followed up on it, we found out there's no such person. Ross is on the warpath. He wants answers and no one's giving them to him. The feds have followed your trail all over New England and so far they've come up empty. Barek got into it with her boss, trying to get us access to the crime scene evidence. So far, no luck."

"Any more bodies?"

"Not yet, but that doesn't mean there won't be."

"What can I do?"

"I'll tell you what Ross told me. He said to tell you two to stay right where you are. There have been enough funerals lately. We got that safe house set up for you. You'll find everything you need at the desk when you go back to the hotel. Here comes Barek. I gotta go. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Thanks, Mike."

He closed the phone and turned it over in his hands as he lost himself in his thoughts. When Eames came out of the fitting room with several outfits over her arm, she approached him. "Ready?"

He didn't answer and she waved her hand in front of his face. "Hello?"

His eyes cleared and he looked at her, confused for a moment. "Oh, uh...okay?"

"Yes, I'm ready."

He slipped the phone into his pocket and stepped away from the wall. "Uh, we'll be moving outside the city in the next day or so."

"It's been arranged?"

"Yes. The details will be waiting for me at the hotel desk."

"How are things back home?"

"Later, Eames."

She wondered if he was being overly cautious, but decided to trust him. She held up a purple shirt. "What do you think?"

He smiled. "Beautiful."

It occurred to her to ask if he meant the shirt, but she decided she didn't want to know.


	7. Catharsis

Mike Logan leaned back in his chair, trying hard not to look amused. The conference room held more FBI agents than he was comfortable dealing with, but Ross had the matter neatly in hand. It was such a pleasure to see the captain let loose on someone that wasn't him. Of course, since leaving NYPD, he'd found his more settled life a tad boring. Not boring enough to come back, but tamer than he was accustomed to. Ross sat beside him, flanked on his other side by Carolyn Barek, staring down the three agents at the far end of the conference table. Ross leaned over the table, his voice low, steady and, in Logan's experience, not to be ignored. "I will not sit back and allow the Bureau to harass the Eames family. I am speaking with the full authority of the New York Police Department when I tell you to back off and leave them alone. They have no involvement in this case. If you cannot find Detectives Goren and Eames by the means at your disposal, then that is your shortcoming. Leave the Eames' out of it."

Bernard Troger, the Bureau's Special Agent in Charge for the city of New York, also leaned forward. "We resent your attempts to thwart our efforts to find the fugitives, captain. We believe the NYPD is harboring them."

Logan watched the vein in Ross' temple bulge. "We are doing no such thing. We do not know the whereabouts of either detective and neither does John Eames. His daughter is smart enough not to call him and put her family at risk. Back off my detective's family or the department will seek an injunction."

Troger's eyes narrowed. "Do not threaten me, Captain Ross."

"That is not a threat, Agent Troger. The department protects its own, and John Eames is one of our own."

"And his daughter?"

Ross' tone did not vary, and Logan respected him for that. He knew that the captain really liked Eames. "Gentlemen, this is the United States of America, and if I remember my Constitution correctly, my detectives are innocent until proven guilty in a court of law. I will not abide your shoot-em-up tactics, like the ones you demonstrated at Detective Goren's home the other day. As far as I know, my detectives have done nothing wrong."

"We have the evidence that proves otherwise."

"And where is this alleged evidence, Agent Troger? You will not share this evidence with my people, and that is not acceptable. You have not even proven to my satisfaction that there have been any murders. I have never worked with a law enforcement agency that will not share evidence, if they actually have evidence in their possession."

Troger was losing his temper. "I will not be spoken to in this manner by a simple cop! We are the FBI! How dare you question our veracity!"

Ross remained calm, and Logan's respect for him went up a notch. Personally, he wanted to toss the arrogant agent into the Hudson. Ross laid his hand flat on the table. "I will question the veracity of any agency that will not produce evidence when asked. You are after my detectives with lethal intent, agent. Expect a court order on your desk by the end of the day requiring you to make your alleged evidence available to my squad. If you do indeed have four murders and evidence that implicates my detectives, be prepared to prove it. Otherwise, I want an explanation for your vendetta against Goren and Eames."

"We aren't interested in Detective Eames," Troger admitted. "But she will lead us to Goren. Where are you hiding him, Ross?"

"That is _Captain_ Ross to you, and we are not hiding him. But he is being protected. If Goren did something wrong, _we _will bring him to justice. But I want _proof_ of his guilt. Now you and your thugs can leave my squadroom. You are not welcome here unless you are complying with the court order you will receive this afternoon." He rose to his feet. "Detective Logan, Agent Barek, my office. Now."

Logan followed Ross. Barek glared at Troger as she crossed the room, glad she wasn't under his command. "Troglodyte," she muttered under her breath as she left the room.

* * *

Ross paced behind his desk as Logan and Barek came into the office. "Do you know where they are, Logan?"

That was the closest Ross had ever come to asking where the two detectives were. "Uh, yeah. Trust me. They're safe."

"And you know how to reach them?"

"If I have to."

"I want to know where they each were when the alleged murders the FBI is accusing them of took place. Did you pull the personnel files on Officer Meredith?"

"I would have, if there were any to pull. That woman doesn't exist, Cap."

Barek nodded. "I talked to her squadmates. The only one who claimed to know her is deep in Federal pockets."

Ross placed his hands on the back of his chair. "I don't like this. This reeks of set-up. Barek, what have you found out?"

"Right now, all I know is that Eames is a secondary target. They want Goren, but I don't know why."

Ross was angry and frustrated. No one set up his detectives and got away with it. "Find the right people and ask the right questions, agent. Find out why and I will fix it. I want my detectives home."

"I'll do what I can, Captain," she said, standing and following Logan out of the office.

Logan looked at his old partner. "He doesn't ask for much."

"No. Not at all."

"And he expects us to deliver."

She nodded. "We'd better. Or Bobby and Alex will be stuck wherever they are."

He just nodded, not offering any information. The fewer people who knew, the safer Goren and Eames were. It wasn't that he didn't trust Barek, because he did. But he did not want her to become a victim of this whole thing. The less she knew, the safer she would be.

* * *

Goren sat on the bed, one leg folded in front of him as he studied a map. Eames slid onto the bed beside him, kneeling and looking at the map. "How bad is it?"

He tapped the map, on the western side of the Island. "Not terrible. It's outside Lynton, in Devon at the northern edge of Exmoor National Park on the Bristol Channel. Not as remote as I thought it might be, but remote enough that they aren't likely to look for us there, if they realize we've left the country."

"If? You still think they won't figure out we've hopped across the Pond?"

He laughed at her terminology. "I am hoping that we'll be cleared before they have a chance to figure it out. But either way, there's no reason yet for them to look outside the Northeast. They know we've gone underground, but that's all they know."

"So is it nice in Lynton?"

"It's mostly moorland. Two hundred years ago Exmoor National Park was a Royal Forest. Have you read Lorna Doone?"

"Uh, no. British literature wasn't one of my burning interests. But I like the cookie."

He chuckled softly. "Well, the setting for the novel is Badgeworthy Water, just to the east of Lynton and Lynmouth."

"So when do we go?"

"In the morning."

She sat beside him, hugging her legs and leaning against his arm. "I miss my family," she confessed. "I'm not used to going this long without seeing my nephew."

Silently, he folded the map. "Then we'll go home."

"What? How can we...? You said..."

"Eames, you are not a target. I made you one. I read the threat as being against us both, but I was wrong. If I had known, I would have vanished on my own."

"And never told me where you were?"

"That would have been too risky. Trust me when I say my goal has always been to minimize the risk to you. I am sorry you were dragged into this."

"Into what?" she challenged, getting angry.

He got up and walked to the window. "This whole mess."

She got the distinct feeling he wasn't talking about their current situation, not entirely. "You said I'm not a target, yet they're trailing my family."

"Because they know that if they can find you, you will lead them to me."

"So what will it solve if we go home? They'll still be after me."

"Not if I give them what they want."

She stared at him, stunned. "What?" she growled. He cringed at her tone. "The _hell_ with that plan! I will _not_ let you sacrifice yourself for me, damn you! How could you even think of putting that kind of guilt on me?"

He placed his hands on the windowsill and leaned on them. "I wish I had known more about the situation," he said quietly.

"So you could have vanished? How would that be a better option?" she demanded.

"Because then you would be safe! You would be with your family and this part of your life..." he trailed off, getting his anger back under control.

"This part of my life?" she asked angrily. "This part of my life? What part would that be?"

Her tone urged caution but he had long ago thrown caution to the wind. "The part that involves me."

She sat there in silence. She'd known that was what he meant, but to hear him say it brought it out into the light of day. "You...regret it?"

He stepped away from the window. "Yes. I do. If I had ever known that being your partner would have done this to you...if I'd known what a fiasco it would have turned into...I would have walked away. I would never have let you be part of such a destructive partnership."

She continued to stare at him. "You really believe that."

He raised his chin defiantly. It was all the answer she needed. She got off the bed and approached him. "What about the part I played in it? Did you ever think that maybe you would be the one who was better off?"

He barked a bitter laugh. "Yeah, right. That's a good one, Eames. You're the normal one. You would have been perfectly fine without me. You'd be a captain by now if it weren't for me."

"Bite me, Goren. I am just as damaged as you are."

"Maybe that's true, inside. But not to the world at large. You're the smart, no nonsense, by-the-book cop who got saddled with a nut job who sabotaged her career. I can't fix that. I wish I could. You would be better off if I'd never transferred to Major Case. You should have had a partner who helped you, not one who hurt you and fucked up your life." He moved his face closer to hers. "If I had been the one who'd gone missing three years ago, _no one _would have looked."

She glared at him until his words broke through her anger. "Do you really think so little of yourself?"

"That has nothing to do with it. The department would have washed their hands of me and walked away. They would have made a public show of it. 'We did our best.' But in reality, they'd have been glad to be rid of me."

"That's why they're trying so hard now..."

"Don't fool yourself. They think I killed another cop and forced you to come with me. They want you back, not me. I'll be hung out to dry." He withdrew, backing out of her personal space. "Besides, it's Logan who's fighting. He's been shafted by the department and he hates to see the same thing done to another cop. Even me."

Her anger faded with his withdrawal. A voice of reason deep inside her said anger was not the way to handle this man. He was used to anger. It was a response as familiar to him as love and tenderness were alien. "Where is this coming from?"

"I get how it is, and I accept it. I'm just...sharing common knowledge."

Her mind spun, seeking the right way to react to him. If she laid into him with both barrels, as was her tendency, she would only do more damage. She had done enough damage to him. Taking into account everything that had happened between them over the past few years, she was actually no better than his mother. He had weathered her fury not because he was that resilient, but because he was that accustomed to it. She treated him the way he was used to being treated, the way he expected everyone to treat him. She fell into the trap of following a pattern that had been established in his childhood. In reality, she was no different than the people who had damaged him to start with. No wonder he sought relationships that were toxic. No wonder he was attracted to the likes of Nicole Wallace and Nelda Carlson. In his mind, fundamentally, he was no better than they were. And what had she done? She'd brought him down and then kicked him good. And he expected nothing different.

Her eyes suddenly welled with tears, and her anger came rushing back. Anger-the protective mechanism she used to handle emotional pain. She turned away and sat on the foot of the bed, determined not to compound the problems she had already created. He never swore innocence. He had been taught well that he was no good. It was something he had come to believe long ago. He struggled to find justice in a world where it always seemed to come out on the losing end. Good struggled in the world, and it was drowning. He felt a compulsion to throw it a lifeline, even if it was a fruitless gesture. It was his way of making amends for not being good enough, of seeking for worth in a soul that had none. Maybe if he did enough good, enough of it would rub off to redeem him. So instead of saying "It's not my fault," he always bore the blame. His shoulders were broad, but she didn't believe he could bear the burden of Atlas, no matter how hard he tried. Nothing that had transpired between them during the past three years was her fault, because he bore the blame for it all.

He stepped up to her and placed his cell phone in her hand. "All right. Have it your way. I won't make any sacrifices. Arrange everything with Logan to get you home. They'll never catch me."

She looked up into eyes that were sadder than she'd ever seen in a human face. She read sorrow and defeat. The world had won. He was giving up because he had nothing left to fight for. The good in him was slipping away beneath the waves to drown in the sea of evil it had struggled so hard against over the last 48 years.

No. She could not let him go. She would not lose him to circumstance. She stood up on the bed and threw the phone across the room, gathering his shirt in both hands. "If you walk out that door, so help me God I will hunt you down. If it takes the rest of my miserable life, I will find you. You will never know another day of rest because you'll always be looking over your shoulder for me." She twisted the fabric of his shirt into her fists. "And I _will_ find you. You are smart, but I will beat that with determination. Damn you, I will give up everything in my life to find you. I will not let you slip away."

She found pleasure in the stunned look on his face, but even better was his silence. She tugged, bringing herself into full body contact with him and drawing her face to within inches of his. The invasion of personal space went both ways. "I had a good life," she said, her voice low and as intense as she'd ever heard his. "I _was _normal-and I was happy. But that all went out the window when Manny Beltran took Joe Dutton's life. I never fully recovered from that loss. Never. But I found a path away from that tragedy. I lived in a dark tunnel for years, but there is finally a light at the end of that tunnel and I will not let you put it out."

His brow furrowed. "Me?" It was the only word he could manage to get out.

She released his shirt and slammed her hands into his chest, shoving for all she was worth. It would have been a lot more effective if she had not been standing on a mattress. Although he stumbled backwards a few steps, she was propelled backwards, landing on her butt in the middle of the mattress. He stood there, staring at her, and she glared back at him. "Hit me again," he said quietly.

"Are you joking?"

"No. Get off the bed and hit me again."

"Goren, you're not funny."

He moved swiftly, surprising her. With ease, he lifted her off the bed and set her on the floor. He brought his face directly to hers and demanded, "I said hit me."

And then he gave her a shove that sent her sprawling back onto the mattress. Something in her brain snapped and she jumped up, swinging her arm in a wide arc to deliver a strong blow to his temple. He went down, but she didn't let up. All the frustration, the anger and the pain of the past ten years of her life came bubbling up from the deep well she had kept it all secured in for so long. With each blow she struck out against Manny Beltran for killing Joe...against Joe for dying and destroying her life...against her sister for giving her the greatest experience of her life and then cruelly snatching it away...against Goren for being the way he was...and against herself for loving the frustrating bastard, for allowing herself to love again when she promised herself she never would, for betraying herself and falling for another cop. And he wasn't just any other cop. He was unique in a world of cookie cutter clones. Where cops should be tough, he was tender. Where cops should be ruthless, he showed mercy. Where cops should be cold, he showed warmth.

She ran out of energy just after she ran out of anger. Out of breath, she collapsed on top of him, struggling to breathe. To her amazement, his hand began to stroke her back, softly, tenderly. His lips brushed her head and he held her. She closed her eyes and slid into a deep, exhausted sleep.


	8. Comfort and Pain

The room was still dark when Eames woke with a dull ache behind her eyes. She was in the bed with the blanket tucked around her. She didn't remember going to bed. She did remember striking out and hitting her partner, over and over, until she couldn't hit him any more. After that, her memory was a blank. She didn't move, silently listening for any sounds from the room around her. She certainly would not blame him if he'd left. She was surprised when she heard deep, steady breathing from the bed beside her. Reaching out, she rested her hand on his broad back, filled with relief that he was still there. Gently, she rubbed. He shifted, then sighed and settled. She turned onto her side, facing him, and slid closer. Slipping her arm around him, she snuggled against him, rested her cheek against his back and went back to sleep.

* * *

When she woke again, she was facing away from him, but he was pressed against her back, his arms around her, holding her snugly. She remembered many mornings when Joe would hold her the same way, and she would feel loved and protected. As soon as he sensed she was awake, he would kiss her neck and blow softly in her ear before nibbling her earlobe...Tears began to run down her cheeks. _Oh, Joe..._

She closed her eyes against the tears. The arms around her tightened and he moved. She felt his breath against the side of her head and he raised his hand to tenderly wipe the tears from her cheek. After what she'd done to him the night before, how could he find it in him to be so tender, so sweet? Overwhelmed, she drew in an uneven breath, unable to stop her tears. "Eames," he whispered against her ear. "What's wrong?"

She turned over and looked at his face. "Oh..." she whispered around the lump in her throat.

She ran her thumb over his swollen lip before she touched his bruised eye with her fingertips. "I...I am so s-sorry," she said.

"Don't be," he assured her.

"Bobby," she started, unable to raise her voice above a whisper. She looked away and smoothed her hand over his white undershirt. "I have no idea what came over me...what made me do that..." She stared at his shirt.

He rubbed her back. "I do." He brushed her hair back from her face. "You were angry, and frustrated, and you needed a way to let it all out. I just gave that to you."

She rested against him and neither of them spoke. He continued to rub her back until he felt her relax. This was new to him. Whenever he shared his bed with a woman, the primary purpose had always been sex. Sleep came as a natural consequence. But this...this was different, comfortable. He wasn't used to this, but it was definitely something he could get used to. It was...nice. No pressure, no expectations. They were simply being with each other, though in a way they had never been before. He found it comforting to hold her in his arms, even if he could never find the voice to tell her what he kept buried in his heart.

Initially, he'd had to overcome his body's conditioned response to another body in the bed with him, but now that he'd gotten past that, he was comfortable. He liked holding her, being close to her. It was addicting. Absently, he stroked her hair, and she snuggled closer, sighing. "It's been so long," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "So very long..."

"Since what?" he wondered.

"Since I've felt so..." she trailed off.

"Angry?" he offered.

She playfully poked him. "No. I'm not really sure what adjective I'm looking for. I only know that I haven't felt it since I lost Joe."

He had no reply for that. In fact, he had no idea how to address it, so he dodged the topic entirely. "Uh, I...I mean...we should get going, Eames."

She was surprised by his sudden discomfort and she pulled back to look up at him. "What's wrong?"

He shrugged. "This is...nice...but-but it's not right. You need someone you can rely on. Not someone like me."

"Who the hell do you think I rely on most? And what do you mean...someone...like you?"

"I'm not stable enough for you, not...not good enough..."

She frowned her confusion. "What are you talking about? Bobby..."

He would not look at her face as he sat up. "We-we need to get going."

She set her jaw and glared at his back. "I'm not getting out of this bed until you talk to me."

"Eames..."

"Start talking. Tell me what you meant by what you said."

"I just meant...I'm too much like Frank."

"Frank? Goren, you and your brother are nothing alike."

"That's not true. We're more alike than we seem. He chose drugs as his escape and gambling as his passion. My passion is justice, and my escape is alcohol. We deal with our pain in different ways but that pain comes from the same well. Neither of us is particularly well-adjusted or socially graceful, though we can get what we want when we want it. We can both be charming, but neither of us can maintain a lasting relationship with a woman over an extended period of time."

"That's not true. We've been together for nine years. That's significant."

"We're partners. That's different."

"How? Maybe we don't share a bed, but we do share a major portion of each other's lives. You're frustrating as hell, but I'm still here."

"All right, so you're the closest thing I've ever had to a long-term relationship, but it's still not the same."

She felt an argument brewing, but she didn't want to fight with him, not now. She slid out of the bed. "All right, fine. Whatever. You want to get going, then let's go."

"Eames, don't be mad..."

She grabbed her clothes and stormed into the bathroom to change. She put on the purple shirt he'd liked so much and a pair of jeans, then looked at herself in the mirror. The collar of her blouse was open to the top of her breasts, plus one more button, and the color suited her. The fabric was soft, and she loved the feel of it, especially where it gathered at her waist. She felt swaddled in a hug, a comfortable feeling.

When she came out of the bathroom, he was dressed and standing by the bed with his bag as he closed it. He looked up at her. "Are you..." He trailed off and stared at her.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

He shook his head, turning away from her to find his voice. "Are you packed?" he asked tightly.

"Almost. Give me a minute."

He suddenly wanted to go home. He felt more comfortable facing an unknown threat than he did being alone with his partner. The only thing that kept him in place was the fact that she was safe where they were. She was not about to leave him alone to face whatever waited for him at home, and he could not take the risk of any harm coming to her on his account. So...he was stuck, and like any caged animal, he began to pace. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he waited for her to finish packing.

Eames closed her suitcase. "Okay, I'm ready."

He stopped pacing at the sound of her voice. "Uh...what?"

"I said I'm ready."

He nodded and grabbed his bag. He held the door open for her and followed her from the room.

* * *

If Eames had ever thought her partner's driving was unnerving, she found it doubly so on the left-hand side of the road. He seemed comfortable behind the wheel on the right side of the car, on the left side of the road, so she left him to it, doing as much as she possibly could to not distract him.

There was so much running through her mind, and surprising little of it focused on the problems back home. He had successfully distracted her from that. She was troubled by the fact that he thought he was anything like his brother. Frank had angered and irritated her, and she had little use for him. All she had seen him do over the last year and a half of his life was upset and disappoint his brother, not to mention setting him up for his near-fatal venture into Tate's. Frank had been unreliable and self-centered, lost in a dark world his little brother had somehow managed to avoid. She could not help but wonder if she played any kind of role in keeping him out of that world, especially in the recent past. At times, she might have pushed him toward it, but if she had, he would never let her know. Hell, she wasn't ever sure about what went through his head. Impulsively, she reached out and slipped her hand into his.

He glanced at her, but she wasn't looking at him. Figuring she was simply unsettled by the unfamiliar driving conditions, he held her hand and hoped she was enjoying the countryside. He was on edge, an unfortunate consequence of the morning's events. He couldn't explain why she seemed so comfortable sharing the bed with him, and as much as he had enjoyed it, he was glad the situation would not come up again. His wandering thoughts set off down a dangerous path, one that led him to Joe Dutton, and he didn't like that one bit. He was disturbed by the fact that Eames had not fully dealt with her loss, although he wasn't particularly surprised. His partner had as much of a tendency to bury her feelings as he did. Buried emotions did not have to be dealt with. Once buried deep enough, they could easily be ignored. Unfortunately, they also had the annoying tendency to be resurrected at inopportune moments, seeking attention they had no right to demand. Eames had been faced with that following the murder of Kevin Quinn. Memories she thought she'd laid to rest came back to haunt her, and he understood that only too well. He buried himself in the effort to find Quinn's killer, and then, to find the man for whom Ray Delgado was sent to prison. He sought justice, for Quinn and for Dutton. Eames only wanted closure. She hated feeling vulnerable, and that was exactly how she felt when she found him reviewing Joe's case. The look on her face still haunted him. He still regretted it, however necessary it had been. He regretted everything he had done to cause his partner pain, but he could not take back any of it. He had to live with it, and he hadn't done that very well. He hadn't succeeded in making it up to her either. Every time he tried, it backfired on him, and he was on the verge of giving up, which was something he struggled to keep from her. It wasn't her fault he continued to let her down. It was one more brick in the pattern of his life. He never measured up and he was used to that. He'd hoped it would be different with Eames, but it wasn't. It never would be.

The road stretched out before them as they left London behind, and finally she squeezed his hand. "What's on your mind?"

Drawn from his depressing reverie, he stumbled over a few words before he finally settled on, "What?"

_Eloquent_, he thought, surprised when she twisted her hand to entwine her fingers with his. The friction across the palm of his hand sent tiny currents of electricity to the core of his body, and he liked it. He swallowed hard and she shifted in her seat, settling her head against his shoulder. "Tell me what you're thinking about," she pressed.

"Uh, no...that's all right. I'd rather not."

"Why? Are you afraid you'll upset me?"

_Okay, I'll go with that,_ he silently agreed. Aloud, he said, "I seem to have that unfortunate tendency lately."

"So your answer to that is to stop sharing your thoughts with me?"

"No. I do share my thoughts with you."

"Outside of a case?"

"Oh, well...there's no reason to, uh...I mean..." There was no graceful way out of this one. _Best just to shut your mouth and let it slide,_ he admonished himself.

Unfortunately, Eames was not inclined to let him do that. "So, unless we're working a case, you don't feel like you have to be honest with me?"

"Don't put words in my mouth," he grouched at her. _I have enough trouble with the words __**I**__ put there._

"So put them there yourself," she challenged. "Tell me what's on your mind."

_All right, then. You asked for it._ "You are."

That seemed to catch her off guard. "Me? All right, start talking. What about me?"

Did she feel entitled to his thoughts simply because they were about her? Regardless of what he was thinking, his thoughts were his own, and no one else was entitled to them. He sighed, uncomfortable. "I just...I'm sorry, Eames. I always seem to...let you down, to disappoint you."

She sat up, away from him, and turned in the seat to look at him. "What are you talking about?"

He shrugged. "You're always mad at me. It..." He trailed off, unsure of what words to use to convey his frustration. Finally, he decided to just step off the cliff and he finished, "I no longer know what to say because everything pisses you off. I'm tired, Eames. I'm just...tired."

"Tired of what? Of being partners?"

Her tone told him she didn't want an answer to that. Maybe she was afraid of what he'd say. But he answered her anyway. "No. The job is what gets me up every morning. It's everything else that wears me down."

Her brow furrowed with concern. Gently, she rubbed his arm. "I know you've been through a lot since your mother got cancer, but..." She stopped herself. Bringing up the mistakes of the past would not help him at all.

"But what?"

She shifted directions. "I realize it was very hard for you to lose her."

He knew she was aware of that. She had seen his pain the night she died...the day of the funeral...the times in between when she'd stopped by to make sure he was alright...because she cared... "She was all I had. I was lost when she died." He focused on the road. "I put even more into the job, because that's what I have. That's all I have."

She leaned over suddenly and kissed his cheek. "You have me, too," she promised.

He turned his head to look at her, confused. "Eames..."

She pointed out the windshield. "Drive."

He turned his attention back to the road, utterly confused and now entirely uncertain. Neither of them spoke for the rest of the drive, but she continued to hold his hand. He had no idea what to make of that.


	9. Storm on the Horizon

**A/N: Star Jelly asked for an update from NY, so that's here. The truth is beginning to rear its frightening head so watch out!**

* * *

It was more of a cottage than a house, but it was cozy and, as promised, it had two bedrooms. Eames chose the room she wanted, at her partner's insistence. Since it didn't take long to check out the living room and kitchen, which was fully stocked and contained a small dining area, she went outside and walked around the yard. It was nice, and she was pleased. Considering the fact that Goren's buddies had arranged it all, she was pleasantly surprised. Returning to the house, she found him nowhere in sight, so she knocked on the door to his room. "Come on in," he said.

She entered the room and smiled at him. "This is nice. I like it."

He sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm glad. I told them my only requirement was that it be a place you liked."

She considered that. "You are going out of your way to make this pleasant for me."

"Why shouldn't I? You didn't ask for any of this."

"Neither did you."

"No, but whatever I did, I inadvertently got you involved. I am very sorry for that."

"We're partners, Bobby. That's something that comes with the territory."

The expression on his face told her he did not agree, but he did not want to argue with her, so he remained silent and looked away. She let him withdraw. "I guess I'll unpack then," she said, annoyed.

He watched her turn on her heel and leave the room. He swore softly, but didn't follow her. Life had beaten him down about as far as it could. He was not going to pursue an argument if he could avoid it. Shoving his bag off the edge of the bed, he stretched out, folded his arms beneath his head and let his mind wander.

* * *

Carolyn Barek sat in a quiet booth in the back corner of the bar, nursing a whiskey sour. She looked up when someone stopped at the booth and slid into the seat across from her. The older man smiled at her. "Hello, sunshine."

"Thank you for coming."

"I would do anything for you. You know that. Now what kind of trouble have you found for yourself?"

She waited while he ordered a gin and tonic, and she nodded when the waiter asked if she wanted a refill. After he walked off, she said, "Not me, Uncle Paul. A friend of mine."

"What happened?"

Barek sighed and leaned back in her seat. "I'm not sure. No one knows for sure, not even him. But we do know that he has made himself a target of the Bureau. They've set him up for a fatal fall."

He nodded at the waiter when his drink was delivered, turning back to her when the man was gone. "Who is your friend, Carolyn?"

"His name is Goren. Robert Goren. He's an NYPD detective assigned to the Major Case Squad." She frowned when he reacted to hearing Goren's name. "What is it, Uncle Paul?"

"Where is he?"

She bristled at his demanding tone. "I don't know. Would you tell me what's going on?"

"You need to distance yourself from this, child."

"I can't. He's my friend; I _know_ him. Whatever they think he did..."

"Do you know what they think he did?"

"No, and neither does he!"

"So he says."

"I believe him. He's not what you obviously think he is." She was frustrated. "Uncle Paul, listen to me. Detective Goren has worked for the NYPD since 1992. He was with CID before that. Being a cop is all he knows."

"Not all cops are good cops."

She had had many conversations with Alex Eames about her enigmatic partner, and she had ammunition to defend him. "But _he_ is! He had a flawless arrest and conviction record in Narcotics. His record with Major Case is equally impressive. He has taken on politicians and judges, even the system. Many of his cases were very high profile, but they didn't intimidate him. He seeks justice, wherever it is hiding."

Paul took a drink, then held his glass in both hands. "What kind of history do you have with this man?"

"I worked with him and his partner on a case. Until then, I knew him in passing, but I got to know him better. I became friends with his partner."

"Where is this partner?"

"I don't know. She is missing as well."

He did not seem surprised. "I'm sorry, darling. I can't help you."

"Tell me what's going on at least! What happened to send the Bureau's bulldogs after this man?"

"I want to know how he found out about it in time to go into hiding. This should be over by now."

Barek frowned. "You mean he should be dead."

"Carolyn, I don't want you poking around in this. It's dangerous."

"I am not backing out. I need to know what's going on so I can help him."

Paul stared at his hands. "I don't know if there's any help for him." He wrestled with himself. How much did she need to know? What could he, in good conscience, tell her about her friend? It was obvious he wasn't going to convince her to step away from this, and he knew how stubborn this woman could be. He'd watched that stubborn streak grow from her infancy through a difficult adolescence, blossoming with her into adulthood. It served her well in her line of work, but now...now it was leading down a dangerous path. "My dear, whatever happens to this man, he will take those who stand by him down with him. I don't want to see that happen to you."

"Uncle Paul, I want to know what is going on, and I want to know now. If it might involve me, I have a right to know."

He looked up at her, his favorite of his brothers' children. "If you step away from it, then it will not involve you."

"Well, I am not stepping away from it, so it does. Tell me."

Paul looked into his drink for a long time. Knowledge was power, and if she knew what she was facing, perhaps, by some miracle, she could save herself, at least. He had little hope for her friend's survival. Finally, he said, "You know that the Bureau does not take kindly to having its dirty laundry aired publicly, and they like it even less when they are proven to be wrong. In your friend's case, he is guilty of doing both, more than once, and so the Bureau has deemed him a threat..."

* * *

Evening brought a storm in off the Atlantic. Eames watched it rage outside the cottage as she fixed herself a pot of stew. She made enough for both of them, but she didn't try to draw him from his room. If he was hungry, he'd come out. She sat at the table across from a window that took up two thirds of the wall, facing the channel. All the lights were off except for one lamp in the living room, which let off a warm glow but wasn't bright enough to reach the small dining area. She had a good view of the garden and the storm, and that was what she wanted.

Her anger had passed, but she wasn't yet inclined to let Goren know that. He was so damn frustrating. But a display of temper, she realized, was not the way to reach him. She had learned that the hard way. All it did was send him retreating further into himself, and right now, that was the last thing she wanted. So she let her mind search for the right way to get through to him...if there was a way.

She remembered what his mother put him through over the last year or so of her life, constantly demanding his attention and then berating him for not being attentive enough. She pulled him hard in her direction, not leaving much of him available for the other demands of his life. She'd done as much as he would let her to ease his burden, but for every inch he allowed himself, his mother reeled him back in a foot. Even that had not suited the old woman, and she continually insisted that her older son could take much better care of her. It had taken every bit of restraint Eames had not to march herself up to Carmel Ridge and let Frances Goren know exactly what a wonderfully devoted son she had in Bobby-and what an irresponsible rake her darling Frank had become. She could not imagine what more Bobby could have done for her. He put his job and his health on the line, pouring everything he had into trying to live up to his dying mother's expectations, and all she did was demand to see Frank. Goren hadn't talked to her about any of it, which hurt her. She'd found out what was going on by piecing together conversations she overheard. She had wanted so much to confront him, but that wasn't what he needed. Her problem was that she had no idea what he needed, and he wouldn't give her any kind of clue.

By the time she finished eating, her irritation had given way, once again, to concern. She placed her bowl in the sink and put the remaining stew in the refrigerator, then she crossed the living room to the short, narrow hallway off which were the two bedrooms. She knocked on his door. No answer. She knocked again.

"Come on in, Eames."

Although he extended the invitation, his tone was not very inviting. She chose to ignore it and entered the room. It was dark, but she could see his outline on the bed. She sensed that he had not been asleep. "I just wanted to say good night."

He nodded. "All right. Good night."

He closed his eyes and resumed listening to the storm. The window was open, letting the sounds of the storm in. Since it was coming from the other direction, no rain was blowing in. He listened for a moment, aware that she had not left the room. He opened his eyes and looked again in her direction. In spite of the darkness, he knew exactly where she was. "Eames?"

"All right," she said. "I lied. I didn't want to say good night. Do you think we could talk for a minute? I mean have a _real_ conversation for a change?"

He hesitated, not exactly sure what she meant. The only way he would find out would be to let her talk. "Okay, fine," he said finally. "What do you want to talk about?"

She still wasn't certain she was welcome in the room, so she remained by the door, trying to figure out a way to begin the conversation. She shifted uncertainly and quietly closed the door before she said, "I don't understand you."

"What did I do now?"

His question pained her. It brought to mind all the anger she'd turned on him in the past, both warranted and not. "You didn't do anything, Bobby."

"Okay, then, what didn't I do?"

It hurt her that he expected her to have a problem with him. She felt even worse when she realized that she had driven him to that. He never used to question their relationship. When she would challenge him, he would either respond or he would challenge her back. She missed those days but she feared they were forever gone. Silently, she approached him, stopping by the side of the bed. He didn't move, so she remained standing. "I haven't been fair to you, have I?"

"What makes you say that?"

"The fact that you expect me to be mad at you."

"You are, aren't you?"

"No."

"You were when you left the room earlier."

Her shoulders slumped in a gesture of defeat he could not see. "I was annoyed, that's all."

He didn't respond. She drew in a deep breath. "You know, this would be easier if I could see you."

Still, he remained silent. Finally, he moved, turning on the bedside lamp. She closed her eyes for a moment, adjusting to the sudden brightness. When she opened them, he was on his side, looking at her. He had shifted over, leaving room for her, if she wanted to sit. She accepted the invitation, disappointed that he did not react at all when she sat by his waist, in the curve of his body.

He watched her, trying to read her face, to determine her motivation for initiating a conversation neither of them seemed to welcome. Was she offering an olive branch or seeking ammunition? It frustrated him that he had lost his ability to read her. He'd felt it slip away during the long months when his mother was dying, and he had never gotten it back. He supposed it was because he was afraid to read her, afraid of what he might discover. He lived with a constant knot in the middle of his gut, the manifestation of his fear that she was finally fed up with him enough to leave. And yet, she never went. So he lived on antacids as he walked on egg shells as best he could.

Although he had never had the healthiest eating habits, they disintegrated entirely as he watched his mother die. Pizza and other fast food became staples of his diet, and it showed. He'd started eating healthier after recovering from his loss and beginning to patch his fractured relationship with Eames...until his suspension. His experience in Tates' opened the door to a very dark world for him, and his suspension pushed him through the doorway. Without Eames, he couldn't find his way. Even after he came back, he was never fully...there. He still had one foot through the door leading to that dark, uncertain world. She never knew that; he never let her know. He was much closer to the edge than she imagined he was. Silently, he continued to watch her.

She wanted to reach out to him, to make some kind of physical contact, but something told her it would be the wrong thing to do, so she resisted the urge. "What happened to us?" she whispered.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "All of a sudden, you were always mad at me."

"I was hurt."

"Why?"

"Because you kept shutting me out. Your mother was dying, and you couldn't even let me know. What was with that, Bobby? Why did you feel like I couldn't help you? Why was it a burden you could only share with Frank, who wanted no part of it? I wanted to help you but you wouldn't let me."

"It was never your burden to bear. You had your own worries."

"Sure, and most of them centered on you." She looked at her hands. "What could I have done differently to let you know I was there for you?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. I wasn't looking for that from you. I wanted work to remain the way it always was. I needed something to be the same. I had no stability in my personal life, so I sought it at work. But that fell apart, too, and I had nowhere else to turn. I had my mother and I had you. That's all I had and I felt I was losing both of you." He held up an index finger and spun it in a circle. "I was in a downward spiral, and every time I felt I was finally pulling out of it, something happened to knock me back down."

Reaching out at last, she covered his hand with hers and stilled it. "I suppose I played a role in that."

"Yes, you did. Face it, Eames, if I didn't care about you, you could never have had that kind of effect on my life."

"And it's because I care about you that I resented being shut out by you."

"You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me!"

"I was in a very bad place, Eames, and I was not going to drag you down with me! I couldn't do that to you. The only way I had to protect you was to withdraw from you."

"Who ever said I wanted to be protected? You never let me have the choice."

"No. I didn't. She was my mother, and it was my life that was shattered. I was not going to let that happen to you."

"But it did, damn it. My life hit the rocks, too. Don't you see? Since I lost Joe, I have never been whole."

"I found that out. That's not something I can fix."

"How do you know? Did you ever try?"

His brow furrowed as he lost track of the conversation. It had spun off in a very uncomfortable direction. "I...Wait a minute...What?"

She looked away as tears threatened. That had slipped out. She had not meant to challenge him that way. The truth of the matter was that in all the time that had passed since she buried Joe, Goren was the one who had come closest to filling the void created by her loss. She turned to sit on the edge of the bed, her back to him. In her mind, she begged him not to touch her. She was afraid of what might stem from physical contact right then. Of course, he didn't listen to her. When did he ever listen to her? It didn't matter to her that she never voiced the words. He should know. How hard was it to know when to push and when to pull away?

He reached out and rested his hand flat against her back. Applying pressure with his fingertips, he rubbed small circles between her shoulder blades. An apology poised on his lips, but something held him back from letting it loose. So he swallowed it and said nothing.

She began to tremble without any warning. He slid his hand along her shoulder and gently tugged. She needed no further encouragement. Turning toward him, she allowed him to pull her into a hug. Mustering all her restraint, she did not cry, but she buried herself in his arms and nestled against his broad chest, and she felt fully protected from the world for the first time in longer than she could remember. He made no move to let her go, and she did not try to pull away. For once, they both made the right decision about each other.

* * *

Logan was seated at Goren's desk when Barek got off the elevator and approached him. She grabbed his arm and dragged him into a vacant conference room. "I have to talk to Goren," she said.

"No can do, Barek. Contact is limited for a reason."

"I am not joking, Logan!"

"Neither am I. I am the only one who knows how to get in touch with him and it's going to stay that way, for his safety and for yours."

Before she could reply, the door opened and Ross came into the room. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, Cap," Logan assured him.

"Shut up, Logan," Barek snapped. To Ross, she said, "I just had a meeting with a Bureau director who is more or less familiar with what's going on. It took some arm-twisting, but I finally got some information from him."

"Did Goren do something wrong?"

"Yes and no. Basically, he just did his job. The problem is that he never knows when to back off and cut his losses." She searched for the right way to put it. "Goren has an obsessive need to find the truth, to bring justice to the victims who cross his path. That's a good thing...until he starts to cross a certain line. He hasn't just crossed a line; he's stomped on it and obliterated it. He got an undercover agent sent up for murder. He's proven more than one Bureau theory wrong, and some of his profiles have been more accurate than the Bureau's agents'. They don't like to be shown up. I realize he doesn't do it to show off. He's just really good at what he does. But that isn't the way the Bureau sees it."

"Enlighten us, Agent Barek," Ross said. "Just how does the Bureau see it?"

"The Bureau has a certain reputation it values, and it doesn't look kindly on being bested by another agency. The Bureau's BAU boasts the best profilers in the world. So when the cream of their crop puts out a profile, only to have it trumped by some local detective in New York, well, they don't like it. So they did what the Bureau does...they offered him a job. During his suspension, they approached him with an offer, claiming they could get around jurisdictional issues like the one that got him suspended. They sing a good song, but in the end, Goren told them no. He was determined to get his shield back. When the agents scoffed at that and told him there was no way he would be reinstated, they followed it up with a demand to know what kind of loyalty he owed a department that would never recognize his worth. He told them straight up that it wasn't the department he was loyal to; it was his partner. So they set these wheels in motion to discredit him, in _her_ eyes, hoping to get her to turn on him so he would take the Bureau's offer. That blew up in their faces, and it pissed them off, royally. Rather than suffer any kind of disgrace, they set their sights on him. When he turns up, make no mistake—he's a dead man. They may let Eames slide by, but not Goren. Now, they want his blood."

Logan and Ross both stared at her for a moment. Finally, Ross broke the silence. "Because he told them no?"

"Among other things, yes."

"Logan, you can contact Goren?"

"Yes, captain."

"Do it."

Logan hesitated, realizing the time, but he did not want to give away Goren and Eames' location, so, with a heavy sigh, he pulled out the no-name phone in his pocket and pressed the speed dial for the only number that was programmed into it.


	10. Moonlight Encounter

The phone roused Goren from a good sleep, and he softly swore, making up his mind to buy Logan a watch when this was over. He grabbed the phone before the ringing woke Eames. Flipping it open as he eased himself away from her and got out of the bed, he growled, "What the hell do you want, Logan?"

"Hey, uh, the captain wants to talk to you."

He slipped out of the room. "I don't want to talk to him."

"Yeah, well, that's not a real option here. Hold on."

Goren was tempted to hang up and return to bed, but something in Logan's tone made him wait. "Goren?"

"What is it, captain?"

"First, tell me Eames is safe."

He frowned. "Of course she's safe. That's why I did what I did."

"Who tipped you off?"

"An old friend."

"Bureau?"

"Yes."

"Did he give you any details?"

"No, but I trust him."

"I'm glad you do. He saved your life."

"What do you know, captain?"

Ross let out a noise between a growl and a groan. "I'm going to let Logan and Barek explain that. I have no idea where you are, detective, but wherever you are, stay put. As long as the Bureau can't find you, we have a chance to avert a tragedy. I need time. Do you understand me?"

"I understand. We'll stay right where we are."

The next voice he heard was Logan's. "I'll call you later. We have some idea what's going on but no idea how to fix it. That's going to fall to Ross."

"My life is in Ross' hands? That doesn't reassure me, Logan. And I'm up now; you might as well fill me in."

Twenty minutes later, he returned to the bed. Instinctively, Eames sought him out in her sleep. Absently, he curled his arm around her and stared into the dark toward the ceiling. The bottom line was that he did his job too well, solved too many cases, crossed too many lines. Of course, if he'd said yes to the Bureau's offer when he was on suspension, he wouldn't be in this fix. He'd be in a whole different hell. He...

His thoughts stumbled when Eames rubbed the flat of her hand over his bare chest. He tipped his head and looked at her face, but it was too dark for him to tell if she was asleep. She shifted herself closer and nuzzled her cheek against him, then she rubbed her hand across his chest, grazing his nipple. _Oh, God..._

Releasing her, he gently shifted away from her. She slid along with him. _Damn_. He moved her hand off his chest, setting it on her hip. She drew in a sudden, deep breath and turned from him, to his relief. Rolling onto her back, she stretched both hands over her head and curled her toes, yawning. _That does not help matters._ She remained on the other side of the bed. "Is it morning?"

"N-No," he stammered. "I-I..."

She turned back toward him and again rested her hand on his chest. Her mind was groggy with sleep, and she rubbed his chest and stomach in a familiar, intimate way. Settling her head on his chest, she could feel his quickened breath, the rapid thudding of his heart...

She became alarmed, sensing his anxiety but unaware of the cause. "Bobby, what's the matter?"

He shook his head. "I-It's nothing. I...I need to get up for a few minutes."

"What happened?"

He slid out of the bed. "Uh, Logan called."

She looked at the illuminated face of the alarm clock on the nightstand. "Does that man own a watch?"

"It wasn't his fault," he replied as he pulled on a shirt, grateful she hadn't switched on the light. "I'll be back."

He went into the living room, grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket and stepped out of the house. The storm had passed and a full moon lit the night sky. He tapped out a cigarette and lit it. The circumstances he found himself in were difficult, and he didn't know what to do. _I haven't felt it since I lost Joe._ He should have pressed the issue, found out what she was feeling, how and why he made her think of Joe. He knew she was lonely; he was, too. But for him it was different. He didn't really know any other way to be. No one he'd ever dated really understood him; none of them had been able to chase away his loneliness. They enjoyed him in bed; they liked what he could do to them. Sometimes it was the sex that kept them around. Some of them actually enjoyed the museums and the art galleries, quiet evenings reading, strolls in the park. Others wanted more adventure, and he tried to accommodate them, but he got plenty of excitement in his job. At home, he craved peace. He enjoyed cuddling without sex, but he had his needs, too. Some of them came close to meeting those needs. He became alarmed, however, the day he came to realize that the women he missed the most after they were gone were the ones who had treated him the worst. The cheaters, the harpies, the bitches. They never lasted long, but when they were gone, he missed them. The good women...they lasted longer and he enjoyed the time he spent with them, but once they left, most of them faded in his memory.

He put out his cigarette and leaned against a tree, looking toward the west where the moon had begun its descent toward the horizon, toward the States, toward home. He felt homesick. Back in New York, he understood the game, the way life was played. But here...he had been thrust into a situation where all the rules had changed and he didn't know what to do.

Eames stepped up beside him, surprising him. He'd been too distracted to hear her come out of the house. She was still wearing her sleep clothes, a sleeveless top and shorts. Like him, she was barefoot. She rested her head against his arm. "What did Logan want?"

"Not Logan. Ross."

"Have they figured anything out?"

He nodded, turning the cigarette pack over in his hands. He shook out another one and lit it. Taking a deep drag, he let it out slowly. "It's all me, Eames. Just like I told you."

He moved his arm, slipping it around her back and allowing her head to rest against his chest. Now that he knew how it felt to have her touch him, he craved it. He rested his hand on her side, above her hip, and she let him. Tentatively, she slid her arms along his waist so she could hug him. They stood silently in the moonlight, enjoying the close contact until she broke the silence, asking, "What did they find out?"

"They're sore losers," he answered vaguely.

"Who are?"

"The Bureau."

"I don't understand. What did they lose?"

"Me."

Slowly, she pulled away so she could look at him. Reluctantly, he released her. She frowned. "You? Something else you didn't tell me?"

He cringed inwardly at the accusation in her tone, but defended himself, "At the time, it was of no consequence. How was I to know it would turn into this?"

She stepped away from him, wrapping her arms around her stomach, fighting the all-too-familiar feeling of betrayal that was slowly creeping up her spine. "Tell me what happened."

He looked at the burning ember on the end of his cigarette and took another drag. Her voice was tight, but at least she was offering him a chance to explain. "I swear, Eames, it was nothing. While I was on suspension, the Bureau offered me a job. I turned them down. That's it. There was nothing to tell because nothing came of it."

"And now?"

He shrugged. "I guess Barek put it best. This is an FBI temper tantrum. They didn't get their way so they're throwing a hissy fit. They like to think they're the best, and when some local cop gets one up on them—over and over—they don't like it. So they're seeking to level the playing field by eliminating the competition."

"That's dirty pool."

He nodded. "But who ever said the Bureau plays fair?"

She watched him finish his cigarette and put it out. "Why did you say no? What do you owe the department, Bobby?"

"Not the department, Eames. Face it, my life is defined by my job. Without it, what am I?"

"If you'd taken the Bureau job, you would have a new definition, but you would still have a focus for your life."

He shook his head and studied the pack in his hands. "It's not the job that gives me my focus," he murmured. He raised his eyes to look at her. "It's you."

She looked back at him, surprised to hear him admit what they had both accepted in silence for years. "Can it be fixed?"

"I don't know. Ross is trying."

"And if he fails?"

"In all reality, Eames..." He stopped himself before he said something that would set her off, and he knew that what he was thinking would earn him a tongue lashing, at the very least. He looked at the ground and finished lamely, "I really don't know."

She knew what he had been thinking, and she was glad he hadn't said it. She stepped in close and turned her face up toward his, but she remained silent.

He studied her face, illuminated by the full moon, and the only thought in his head was how beautiful she was just then. He swung his arm forward and brought his hand to rest on her hip, once more seeking physical contact with her. Once, being his partner was all he needed from her, and he hadn't anticipated a time would come when he would need more, but that time had arrived. It was something he struggled with daily.

When he rested his hand on her hip, she stepped even closer to him, bringing her torso up against his. She watched him swallow, but he didn't move away. His eyes roamed over her face, briefly darting down to her shirt and then back. She didn't have to wonder what he was thinking. She brought her hips forward, pressing them against his leg, and his eyes widened. Sliding her hand along his waist, she leaned up unexpectedly and pressed her lips softly against his.

He closed his eyes and instinctively leaned into her kiss. She gave him no time to recover his senses before she pulled away, having lingered just long enough to confuse him. His eyes remained closed as he recovered from the unexpected intimacy. When he finally opened his eyes, she was watching him. After a moment, he recovered his voice. "Why...Why did you do that?"

She caressed his side. "Because I want you to know that I care about you. I have always cared about you, even when you didn't want me to."

"Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to care about me?" he whispered.

"That doesn't matter. Listen to me: Ten years ago, I made a promise to myself. I swore I would never love another cop. You made me break that promise, dammit, and I am mad at you for that. But sometimes, our hearts rebel against our reason and it's the heart that dictates who we love." She shivered. "Now—I am getting cold and I am tired, so I'm going inside, back to bed. Do you want me to go to my own room?"

He did...but he didn't, and before he could stop himself, he was shaking his head 'no'. She leaned up and lightly brushed her lips over his again. She did not move away, keeping her body in contact with his. "Please don't stay out here. I promise, I'm not going to attack you."

"You aren't the one I am worried about."

She laughed lightly before she stepped away from him. "That's a chance I'm willing to take."

Turning, she trotted across the small garden, up the steps to the even smaller porch and into the house. He watched every movement she made in the moonlight and considered the wisdom of returning to the house. After a tortuous debate with himself, he finally went back into the house, hoping she was asleep. He stopped in the kitchen and poured himself a drink, which he downed while looking out the window toward the moonlit channel. After finishing his second drink, he left the kitchen.

Entering the bedroom silently, he pulled off his shirt and slipped into the bed, wondering again why he'd told her he didn't want her to go to her own room. In her sleep, she sensed his return to the bed, and she turned toward him, snuggling into his side. She rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder and draped her arm over his stomach. When she settled her leg on top of his, he almost got out of the bed. But then she wiggled her hips a little and made a small sound that sent his mind reeling, and he had no more thoughts about leaving her. He wrapped one arm around her and held her tenderly, resting his cheek against her head. Softly, he sighed, and he willed his body to calm down. It was a gradual process, and he did calm down, but nothing helped the ache he felt inside. Silently, he cursed Logan for waking him, and yet, he hoped he would someday see his friend again.

His mind strayed again, this time wandering down a dangerous path. As he felt her breath feather across his chest, he thought of Joe, and he wondered if it was Joe who was on her subconscious as she snuggled against him. Her actions were too intimate, too familiar, too...loving...for him to believe they were meant for him. And yet, each soft noise she made, each shift of her hips and stroke of her hand, brought her closer to his heart, making him less inclined to leave the bed. The warmth and comfort that enveloped him did not come from the bed. It came from her.


	11. Searching for the Truth

Eames woke slowly. She was warm and comfortable, wrapped in her partner's arms. His breath sifted through her hair. One of his hands splayed across the small of her back and the other rested lightly on her hip. Beneath her head, she felt the slow, steady beat of his heart. Closing her eyes, she listened. Strong, steady, dependable...just like he was. Turning her head, she placed a kiss in the center of his chest. Then she slowly eased herself from his arms and got out of the bed.

She watched him sleep for a moment. He remained on his side, the sheet gathered at his waist. She'd never had a good look at his bare chest before, and she was surprised by the scars that defined a life much rougher than she imagined. One or two she recognized as scars left by bullets. She reached out to touch the closest one, and she choked back tears. The bullet that had taken Joe's life had entered very close to that same spot. Turning quickly, she hurried from the room.

After finishing in the bathroom, she went into the kitchen and set up the coffee pot. As the coffee brewed, she prepared breakfast and reflected on how much of a crap shoot life could be. She wondered how close that one bullet had come to ending her partner's life before she even knew him. He had lived while Joe had not. She knew there were many variables, and ten years ago, she would never have counted herself as lucky as she did today, knowing he had lived.

Not long after Eames got out of the bed, he woke. He was surprised by how cold and empty the bed suddenly got. She had stayed the whole night. She might not have intended to fall asleep in his arms initially, but after Logan's call, she willingly returned to be with him. More than that, she still had no expectations except that he stay with her and sleep. Once he had settled down and relaxed, sleep had come readily. He'd slept well, better than he could remember sleeping in a long time without help from alcohol or the sedatives Olivet had prescribed for him last year. He glanced at the time. Five hours of good, hard sleep in a warm, welcoming bed with no strings attached. _No strings attached._ A woman slept in his bed, and she wasn't looking for sex or bragging rights for having slept with a cop.

He got up and took a long shower, still trying to sort through his emotions. He searched for the negative ones that inevitably assaulted him following positive experiences, but he couldn't find any beyond his own insecurities, which he never knew what to do with. He also sought a reasonable explanation for what was going on between him and Eames. She was frightened and unsettled by their circumstances, and he was familiar and comforting to her. He wondered if that was what was driving this. He knew how much she hated not being in control, and he understood why she was feeling insecure right now. It was different for him. He was used to life being beyond his control; it was a too-familiar pattern. Eames considered herself a master of her destiny. He was a pawn of his.

After drying off and dressing, he went in search of Eames, surprised to find her in the kitchen. She looked up from the stove with a smile when he entered the room. "Bacon and eggs," she said brightly. "I also thought you would prefer toast to scones."

"Good thought," he said as he poured a cup of coffee and refilled hers.

As she sat across from him with her plate, she asked, "How did you sleep?"

"Good, for a change," he replied.

"That's unusual for you." A statement rather than a question, it emphasized how well she really did know him.

"Very. At least, it is if I'm on my own. One time after I was injured on the job, they gave me something in the hospital that knocked me on my ass. I never slept that well, before or since."

"How were you injured?"

"I, uh, I stopped a bullet."

The image of his scar returned to her mind and she clenched her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. He watched her, and he sensed her grief once again. He poked at his breakfast, not sure how to continue the conversation. "You slept well," he observed, seeking a safe topic.

"I did. I was comfortable."

"Oh." He should have known there was no such thing as a safe topic between them.

"'Oh'? Is something wrong?"

"No. Not wrong. It's just...Well...Last night...Uh, you..." He trailed off, feeling uncomfortable.

She waited until she was sure he wasn't going to finish his thought. "I what? Drooled? Talked in my sleep?"

He shook his head. "No. You, uh, you _snuggled_ in your sleep."

She stared at him for a moment. "Is that a problem?"

"No. It was nice. I guess...I'm just not used to it."

"Come on, Goren. You can't tell me that you don't have sex."

He shifted uncomfortably. "Of course I have sex. But...we didn't have sex last night, Eames."

"That's a relief. I thought I might have slept through it."

He frowned. "I...I wouldn't..."

"Relax," she assured him. "I was kidding."

"I behaved," he said quietly, looking at his plate.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you." When he didn't say anything more, she asked, "Why did it bother you that I snuggle in my sleep?"

He pushed his eggs around the plate with his fork. "I thought, maybe...you missed Joe."

So that was what had him troubled. She wasn't sure if it was insecurity or sympathy that drove him to think about Joe. Knowing him, it was most likely some odd mix of the two. As for bringing it up to her, she didn't get the sense he was seeking reassurance or permission from her, but she couldn't quite place his motivation. _Curiosity_, her mind suddenly thought. _Yes, that was it. Curiosity._

She sighed softly, but she was willing to have this discussion with him. "Not a day goes by that I don't miss Joe, that I don't wonder what my life would have been like if he hadn't died. But that doesn't mean I don't live in the present as well. Bobby, I have no illusions about my life. I know exactly where I slept last night, and I know that it was a very comforting place to be. I think I found the adjective I was missing the other morning. Remember? What I haven't felt since I lost Joe?"

"I remember. What adjective did you find?"

"Warm. I felt warm, and that reminded me that I was loved. I know I told you I don't want you to protect me, but every time you held me over the past few days...I _did_ feel protected."

She put a forkful of eggs in her mouth and waited for him to speak, but he said nothing. Neither of them spoke again until they were done eating. He cleared the plates and carried them to the sink to wash them.

As he washed the dishes, she came up behind him. "There's something about a man washing dishes that is so sexy..." she said as she dipped her hand in the hot soapy water and proceeded to dry it on his t-shirt.

He dropped the coffee cup he was holding. "Hey..."

She turned and hurried out of the kitchen as he hefted the sponge and threw it after her. It hit her square in the back of the head and slid down her back. Laughing harder than she had in a very long time, she snatched it off the floor and hurled it back at him. He turned his head in time to take the wet sponge on the side of the head instead of in the face. She vanished and he gave chase.

He heard the door slam and he chased her into the garden, catching her as she got to the tree he'd stood under last night. He wrapped his arms around her waist and she fell back against him, still laughing.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the sound of her laughter. It had been so long since he'd heard her laugh like that. He tightened his arms protectively around her. Her head rested in the center of his chest as her laughter softened and slowly faded, but she made no move to step away from him. He held her firmly against him, and she relaxed. "I won't let anything happen to you," he promised. "You will go home to your family, and you'll be safe."

She placed her hands over his. "What about you? I want you home, too."

"I'll do my best, but I honestly don't know how this is going to turn out. You should be prepared for anything, Eames."

Her hands tightened over his. "No. I won't accept just any outcome. Damn it, Goren! I lost one..." She stopped when her voice broke, and he pulled her more firmly against him, trying to reassure her.

"I won't lie to you," he said with his mouth near her ear. "I have no idea how this will turn out. There are only a few likely scenarios. We can stay on the run. You can go home and I will remain at large. Ross and Logan will work out something and we can both go home safely. Or we can both go home and the FBI will get their way and eliminate the 'competition', but you'll be free to live your life. "

"Free, Bobby? Free? Like Declan Gage set you free?"

He didn't know how to answer that, so he chose not to address it. She pulled away from him and he released her. Turning, she crossed her arms over her chest and waited. Her eyes were moist, but her expression was angry. He'd seen that combination too many times for his liking, and he knew what it meant. He'd said the wrong thing. Again.

"I, uhm, I didn't mean that the way it came out. Look, Eames...I am trying to face reality, and the reality of our current situation is that someone in the upper echelons of the FBI wants me dead. I can spend the rest of my life on the run, or I can face the threat and end it. Neither outcome is one I prefer. I don't want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, and I don't particularly have a death wish, but those are the two most likely endings for my life."

She knew he was trying to be practical, but it still rubbed her the wrong way because she did not like any of the scenarios he proposed, except the one that had Ross working it all out—the most unlikely one.

"You once told me that you aren't afraid to die."

"That's true, but it doesn't mean I particularly want to die."

"But have you ever considered..." She trailed off, not sure just how to word her question.

His expression changed. "Eating my gun?"

After a moment, she nodded, not sure she wanted an answer now. The silence between them filled the air, and even the ocean seemed to fall silent. Time itself stood still until he finally answered, "Yes, I have. More than once."

"What stopped you?"

His mother...the job...his integrity and morality...his religious upbringing...Of all the reasons that raced through her mind, she never expected the one he gave her. "You did."

"Me?" she asked, surprised.

He nodded, looking at the ground as he explained, "I have never intended to hurt you, Eames. Never. I realize that of everything I have ever done or said, nothing would hurt you worse than that."

She was stunned and said nothing. He moved away from the tree, stepping up to her. He touched her chin and tipped her face up so that he could see it. "I have made peace with my own mortality, but I don't plan to do anything to rush it. If I die on the job, that's one thing. That would be a...meaningful death. But there is nothing meaningful in taking your own life, no matter how...lonely a life it is. I realize that no one would miss me—no one but you. But that's enough."

The tears returned to her eyes, but the anger was gone. She reached out and smoothed her hand over his shirt. "Bobby..."

"It's all right, Eames. You don't have to say anything. I'm okay with my life these days. I've had a lot that I needed to come to terms with over the past two years or so, and I think I've done that. I'll have to check with Olivet." He smiled, letting her know he was joking. He closed his hand over her arm. "I think—I hope—we have come a long way toward repairing our relationship. The better it gets, the better I am. You're all I have."

She turned her eyes away from his face. "Bobby, you have friends, family..."

He sighed, impatient. "I have family I barely know. They're good people, but they're still strangers. I have friends who owe me favors, buddies I can call if I don't want to drink alone. I can make a phone call and I won't sleep alone. But they don't _know_ me. They know the me I want them to see. I can take them or leave them, and they me. When my mother and my brother died, I lost everything that had me grounded in life, except for you."

"But you never turned to me, never confided in me. For God's sake, Bobby, I found out about your mother's cancer when you told a _suspect_!"

"Just because I chose not to burden you with the details of my life doesn't mean you aren't important to me. You have your own life to contend with, your own demons to chase. I never needed you to look after mine. It was always enough for me to know that you were there, that someone really cared about me. It was enough."

She hated the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, and that fueled the anger that kept them at bay. "That _wasn't_ enough for me. I wanted you to let me in, just once. But you never trusted me that much. You can trust me with your life, but not with your heart."

"Trust had nothing to do with it. It was a choice I made."

"You could share it with Frank, if he'd wanted any part of it, but not with me."

He flinched internally at the accusation and the hurt in her tone. "That's different. Frank was my brother. She was his mother, too, so part of the responsibility was his. It was his...his duty, to share the burden of her life and her death with me. The fact that he chose not to does not mean I had to search for a surrogate. It just pushed it all onto my shoulders, and I accepted that." He sighed. "I didn't know how to ask someone else to become part of that."

"You didn't have to ask me. I offered."

"I know. But I didn't know how to accept your offer any more than I knew how to ask for help."

She turned away from him. "So you bent under the burden until you snapped."

"I'm not an oak tree."

She turned her head to look at him, confusion shaking her anger from her. "What?"

"An oak tree is strong and tall, but it has little flexibility and will snap in a strong enough wind. Unlike the palm tree, which can also be tall, but it's flexible and can survive most storms. I didn't snap. I bent, but I didn't break."

It was a good analogy, and she accepted it. "You could have eased the burden, though. You know, sought shelter from the storm instead of trying to face it head-on by yourself. For a genius, you sure don't have it in the common sense department."

"A common failing of people who spend too much time in their heads. We don't learn how to adapt, or how to live and play well with others. But I am who I am, and I accept it."

_I am who I am..._ Slowly, she nodded, turning toward him and stepping close. She slid her arms around him in a hug and rested her head against his chest, where she could listen to his heart again, grateful it was still beating. He placed one hand behind her head and the other over the small of her back. After a moment, she pulled back to look at him. "You really don't want to hurt me?"

"Of course I don't."

"Then consider this. I was married to Joe for three years before he was killed. All together I was with him for five years. He was the most significant relationship I've had outside my immediate family, until you. We've been partners for more than nine years. Partners, Bobby. That makes us more than friends, more than lovers...more than family. That makes you the most important person in my life. You have no idea how hard it was for me when Joe died, and I don't want to find out how hard it would be for me to lose you."

"I understand that," he said softly, reaching out to touch her cheek, to reinforce his connection to her. "But you promised you would never love another cop."

She nodded. "I know. But my heart scoffed at that 'never' part."

"Your heart... Do you really think emotion can ultimately win out over reason?"

She could tell he questioned that himself. For him, it was always reason that won out. He would never let his emotions extend far enough beyond his control to trump reason. She nodded her head. "Yes. Emotion can overrule reason. You can't intellectualize everything, Bobby. Sometimes, emotion provides the only answer."

He stepped away from her, returning to the tree, and he looked out at the ocean. "Reason is less painful," he muttered, almost to himself. Then he turned and walked toward the house.

That was very true. Reason _was_ less painful. But reason could not bring joy either, and it was the joy that made emotion worth the hassle. She followed him into the house.

* * *

Paul Barek sat in a dark corner of the small bar, nursing a gin and tonic. In his career, he had been responsible for taking the lives of many men who had been deemed a threat to the Bureau, to the President, to the nation. If possible, he dealt with those matters of national security before the Secret Service ever knew they existed. And over the course of his career, now moving into its thirty-fifth year, he'd never thought twice about what he had to do. Never personalize your target. Never put a name to the face. The name belonged on paper, the face, in the crosshairs of his sniper rifle. Never think about the target as someone's son or daughter, wife or husband, mother or father.

Carolyn had no idea what he did for the Bureau, how he supplemented his position as assistant director. She knew he had the director's ear, but she never knew exactly why. She was always a smart girl. She never asked the wrong questions, never sought favors or preferential treatment. Until now. For the first time in his career, Paul's target had become personalized. The face had a name and the name carried a label. _He's my friend...a good cop...a good man..._

_Oh, child..._

His favorite niece was friends with a man who'd somehow gotten on the wrong side of the Bureau. He'd told her what he had been told about the man, that he'd caused the Bureau one embarrassment too many. But he felt he owed it to her to at least find out what real crime he had committed. The problem was he couldn't find one. He had searched the man's Army records, but only found minor infractions, nothing unusual for a young man trying to find himself. He had searched his NYPD records. He found more there, but again, nothing criminal. Carolyn had been right: his arrest record with Narcotics was stellar. He had a tendency toward insubordination, but always within the scope of finding justice for the victims of the crimes he investigated. His methods were cited as being unorthodox, but he never crossed the line, never abused a suspect. There was nothing in his records that told Paul why he had been ordered to neutralize him.

So he'd turned to the Bureau's files. Only the President and the director himself had greater access to the Bureau's files than he did. Finishing his drink, he placed several bills on the bar and rose, picking up the briefcase from its place by his left leg. Nestled within the leather case was a thick file on the man he was charged to kill. Paul headed for home, determined to discover what this man had actually done to deserve the punishment he was ordered to deliver. He owed Carolyn that much.

* * *

Ross stormed off the elevator and crossed his squadroom. "Logan, Barek, my office."

The two former detectives looked at each other before they rose to follow the captain. They knew Ross was frustrated by his inability to make any headway with the Bureau. The chief of detectives refused to back him, although the commissioner had entered into the negotiations, such as they were, because he owed Ross a favor. As soon as the office door was closed, Ross demanded, "Are you sure Goren and Eames can't be found?"

"Absolutely," Logan replied. "Have you found anything out?"

Ross shook his head. "Not much. All I know for certain is that somewhere along the way, recently, Goren really pissed off someone high enough in the Bureau chain of command to be taken seriously when he said he wants the man's blood." He pulled his desk drawer open and took out a bottle of Nacedrol. "Go to records. Pull Goren's case files for the past eighteen months, since he came back from suspension. There has to be something in one of them. Start looking." He waved his hand and they started out of the office. "And Logan..." Logan stopped at the door to look at him. Emerald fire burned from the captain's eyes. "Don't be afraid to ask questions."

Logan smiled. "Not me, cap. I'll find the answers."

Ross nodded, and Logan accepted his challenge. The answers were out there, and Ross just granted him permission to do whatever he had to do to find them. He had nothing to lose.


	12. No One is Untouchable

Paul Barek sat on his sofa, waiting. Goren's file was on the coffee table beside another, smaller file. He rose from the sofa when the doorbell rang. Pulling the door open, he nodded at the man who stood on the porch. "Hello, Bill. Come in."

Bill Terhune did not waste time with pleasantries. "Tell me you found them."

"No. That's not why I called you. Come in and sit down. Can I get you a drink?"

"No, thank you." Terhune was a powerfully built man who carried himself with the confidence of one used to getting his way. He had a military air about him, from his close-cropped silver hair to the mirror shine on his shoes. "What is this about, Paul?"

"This job, Bill. It doesn't add up."

"Since when are you a math whiz? I gave you a set of orders and I expect you to obey them."

Paul indicated the files on the coffee table. "This isn't Vietnam, Bill. Times have changed. In the past, you have always had a good reason for the jobs you asked me to do. I've averted assassination attempts on the President and terror attacks on national landmarks. I've done good things for this nation outside my work with the Bureau. But this...this man is no threat to the country. You lied to me. I want to know the truth before I pull the trigger. I have to know that he has committed a crime worth dying for."

"When did you being to analyze the morals of your job?" Terhune sneered.

"When I found out this man isn't what you made him out to be. He's a cop, a good cop."

"All you need to know is that I want him eliminated."

Paul shrugged his broad shoulders. "I've done this job for thirty-five years, and I'm tired. I've put in my time and I've made this country a better place, a safer place. I can justify what I have done for the greater good. But this seems personal, and I want no part of it. I am not your puppet. It's time for me to retire."

Terhune placed his hand in his pocket, jingling his keys, the only sign of irritation he exhibited. "I am very sorry to hear that, Paul. You have served your country well."

The cold blue steel of William Terhune's eyes met the warm, dark pools of Paul Barek's as Terhune pulled out his service revolver and neatly placed a bullet in his old friend's forehead. Paul never saw it coming.

Terhune sat down and looked through the smaller file on the table. He didn't need Paul, although he would have preferred the neat, professional job Paul did. He had a couple of agents in mind, young hotheads who were eager to please and would be easy to convince that Goren was a threat. They would take him at his word; no proof would be needed. Halfway through the file, he stopped and smiled. His agents could not find Goren. He had fallen off the radar. He closed the file and stood, tucking it under his arm. Now, they wouldn't have to find him. Goren would come to him.

* * *

The table in the conference room was cluttered with files. Logan paced along its length, tie loosened, top two buttons of his shirt open, sleeves rolled up. Barek was reading a typed report from one of the cases. Logan picked up a file, then dropped it on the table. "Barek, when you write a report, do you include every detail, every thought or gut feeling?"

"Details, yes. Thoughts or feelings, not necessarily."

"But those thoughts and feelings, they can lead somewhere, even months later, after a case has been closed. Have you ever watched Goren on a case?"

She nodded. "That binder he always has with him."

"Right. He puts everything in it, every step they take, every conversation, anything he thinks might sometime become relevant. I'll bet money he doesn't copy his notes verbatim into his reports."

"None of us do."

"What do you do with your notes after a case has been solved?"

"Well, I keep basic case notes in a file at home, so I have something to refer to if the case ever resurfaces."

"Exactly. So does he." He picked up two files he had set aside before he began cruising around the room to think. "I need to see his notes on these two files."

"I sure hope he has a better filing system than you do. I don't relish the idea of sifting through shoeboxes full of assorted notes, takeout receipts and reminders to pick up your drycleaning."

"Come on, Barek. This is Goren. I'll bet his notes are categorized and cross-referenced." He grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair. "I have his keys. Let's go."

"You do realize that the Bureau is probably still watching his place."

He stopped at the door. "Good point. We'll need a distraction. I know just who to call."

* * *

By the time they got to Goren's neighborhood, it was just past sundown. Logan and Barek watched from the corner as his friend, a curvy, buxom blond who looked like Jean Harlow, walked up to the surveillance car and leaned in to talk to its occupants. Logan smiled. "Come on, Barek. They'll be busy for a couple of minutes."

"What did you say her name is?"

"Candy."

"That's her working name?"

He looked across the street and snickered. "Yeah, and it looks like she's scoring points right now."

"This is a nice neighborhood, Logan. You don't think Candy will be noticed?"

"She's a looker asking for directions, not a hooker trolling for johns. Let's get inside."

They hurried to the front door, which Logan quickly unlocked, and they disappeared inside.

Logan pulled out his flashlight, searching the living room for a file cabinet. "I don't remember seeing a file cabinet when we cleaned the place up, do you?"

"No. Do you think he'd be that obvious?"

"We're not talking state secrets here. Just a cop's notes on cases that are closed." He pointed down the hall. "Bedroom."

Logan's flashlight beam swept the room, which was spartan. Aside from the bed and nightstand, a recliner sat in the corner near the window beneath a reading lamp. Barek picked up the book that was on the seat of the chair and shined her flashlight on the cover. "_An Impaired Mind_," she read.

Logan opened the closet door. "Don't tell me you expected popular fiction."

"Every mind needs a rest, even his."

"Tell him that. He reads a little bit of everything. But if you really want a fun time, try watching porn with him. His insights crack me up even more than what's on the screen. Add some alcohol and it gets really friggin' hilarious." He opened the closet door. "He's got a lot of experience under his belt, that's for sure. Bingo. Here are his files."

He pulled out a plastic crate marked '2008' followed by one that read '2009'. Kneeling beside them on the floor, he easily found the two cases he was looking for. "He should teach a class to the files clerks. Let's go out the back way."

She waited for him to put the crates away and asked, "What about your friend?"

"She knows her way home. Come on."

They went out the back door and through a series of alleys and yards to find their way back to their car.

* * *

Early the next morning, Logan dropped a file on Ross' desk. "Casey Demarest. Sent up for murder one last year. Seventeen years old, tried as an adult. Took the fall for the murder of the pregnant twenty-something daughter of a friend of the mayor, which is how we caught it. Goren knew the kid didn't act alone, but Casey never broke, never gave up the person who put him up to the murder."

Barek took over. "They knew Casey was protecting someone, but there was no evidence linking anyone to the murder but Casey. Whoever put him up to it covered his tracks very well."

"And they chose the perfect patsy. Lonely kid with a sense of loyalty bred on the streets. According to Goren's notes, Casey formed some kind of deep connection with the man who sent him to whack the girl. Don't misunderstand—Casey is right where he needs to be. There's no doubt that he did the deed. But there's somebody else involved and that's what was eating at Goren."

Ross nodded slowly. "Do we have any idea who this somebody else is?"

Logan nodded. "Goren and Eames narrowed it down to two men—Edgar Pembleton and Darren Bradley."

"Pembleton, of the Park Avenue Pembletons?"

Logan grinned. "Precisely. He was the kid's Big Brother for almost four years. He had a beef with the girl and a shaky alibi. But Eddie's not the interesting one, and he's not the one Goren liked for it."

"Darren Bradley," Barek began. "He is a longtime troublemaker. Juvenile record goes back to when he was 12. He's about six years older than Casey, befriended him on the streets. He dated the victim around the same time she was seeing Edgar. The girl got pregnant and decided that Edgar's bigger bank account would make her child a better father. But this story has an interesting twist, one that I don't think Goren has uncovered yet. Darren goes to great lengths to distance himself from his family, and I don't see anything in Goren's notes that indicate he found out just who that family is, but he was getting close, and that may be why he's in trouble now. Darren is the stepson of FBI Assistant Director William Terhune."

Ross leaned back in his chair and whistled softly. "So what's the relevance here? I thought the case was closed when Demarest was convicted."

Logan shrugged. "Yes and no. There is no doubt that Casey committed the crime. Case closed. But Goren can't leave well enough alone. He believes that justice was only half-served by putting Casey away. Darren bears equal responsibility for the death of that girl and her baby. On his own time, he's continued to look into Darren's activities."

With a scowl, Ross said, "Please don't tell me Goren is going vigilante."

Logan laughed. "Like Eames would allow that. He's not doing anything outside the scope of his job. He just wants to make sure that justice is fully served."

"Is Eames aware of his extracurricular investigations?"

Logan nodded. "Yeah, she knows. It's her case, too."

Ross remained unconvinced. "If Terhune is influential, why does he have to resort to Mafia tactics to deal with a stubborn detective?"

"Terhune is more than influential, Captain," Barek informed. "He oversees half the eastern seaboard, and he has a reputation for making problems go away, for good. Trouble disappears and Terhune always comes away smelling like a rose. He's untouchable."

Ross' brow furrowed. "_No one_ is untouchable, Agent Barek. If Goren isn't doing anything wrong, why is the Bureau gunning for him?"

Barek folded her arms over her chest. "Because Darren is a mommy's boy, and Terhune is entirely devoted to his wife. So if Darren went crying to Mommy and she turned on her charm, Terhune may very well have made up some reason to put out a hit on Goren, ultimately to get him off Darren's back."

Logan flashed a wolfish grin. "Some men will do anything for sex and love. Well, for sex, anyway."

Ross glared at him for a moment before he addressed Barek, "Agent Barek, given the nature of your position with the Bureau, I will understand if you prefer to take a back seat from here on out."

Barek shook her head. "If Terhune is behind this, I would consider it a service to my country to expose him. And I like Goren. His only crime is wanting justice for a pregnant girl. I want to see him cleared."

Ross gave her a tight smile that conveyed respect and gratitude, then he turned to Logan. "All right, Logan. Get out your stick and start poking. But when the tiger turns to bite, I want to be there."

"You got it, cap. You heard the man, Barek. Let's shove a stick in the tiger's cage."

Barek followed him from the office. "I hope you have a really big stick, Logan."

* * *

Goren poured himself a drink and looked out the window toward the channel. The sky was bathed in red as the sun sank into the sea. He closed his eyes when a hand came to rest on his back. Gently, she rubbed and said, "It's been a long week."

"Is that all it's been?"

She stepped to his side and he put an arm around her. All they had was each other, and they both found a desire for close contact. She found great comfort in his understated gestures of affection. She needed him. She rested her head against him and placed her hand on his stomach. "Do you mind if I stay with you again tonight?"

"No. I don't mind." He rested his cheek against her head. "Does it...make you feel better?"

"Yes. It does. I don't feel quite so disjointed, uprooted."

"You feel...safe?"

She smiled. "Yes, Bobby. I feel safe when I'm close to you."

His arm tightened around her. "Then stay close," he said softly.

She rubbed her hand over his stomach, and he pressed his lips against her head. As she turned her head to raise her face toward his, the phone rang. With a sigh, she stepped away from him. He went into the living room and picked up the phone. "Yeah?"

"You're not gonna like what I have to tell you."

"Just tell me, Logan."

"They've upped the stakes, Bobby."

"What did they do?"

"They...They took her nephew, man. Two badges picked him up at school. They told the school principal that his parents had been in a bad accident and they were to pick him up and take him to his aunt at the hospital. The school didn't question them. No one knew anything about it until her sister showed up to pick him up after school."

Goren got very still. Eames came out of the kitchen and handed his drink to him. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"You still there?" Logan asked.

"I'm here," he answered. He was tense, furious.

"We're doing what we can..." Logan began.

"It's over, Mike. This is checkmate. Make the arrangements. We'll come home."

"Bobby..."

"It's all right. We have no choice. Call me with the flight information when you have it."

He closed the phone and took a drink. He was visibly shaken. Reaching out, he pulled Eames to him and held her. "What is it?" she asked. "Why are we going home?"

"Because we have no choice. Eames, two FBI agents took your nephew from school. The only way we're going to get him back is if I go home."

She gasped and froze as panic gripped her. He stroked her hair and murmured to her, "They'll return him, once they have me."

Stunned, her knees buckled, and he gently eased her onto the couch, sitting beside her. She was being forced to choose between the partner she would give her life for and the child she gave life to. She began to tremble with helpless rage. "Bobby..." she whispered, unable to keep her voice steady.

"It's okay. We'll get him back. We're going home."

"But...you..."

He touched her chin and leaned in, gently kissing her. With a sob, she threw her arms around his neck and held him. He put his arms around her and she pressed herself as close to him as she could get. Her world was falling apart, and all she wanted was to be close to him. It wouldn't be much longer before she might have to let him go, forever.


	13. Demands

Special Agent in Charge Bernard Troger had never liked dealing with the NYPD, and he particularly disliked the Major Case Squad. He found Captain Ross to be arrogant and condescending. He had four agents out on the streets, following leads, while he met with Ross and his detectives about the disappearance of Nathan Gannon. He took a deep breath as the elevator doors opened and he stepped out onto the eleventh floor of the Headquarters Building.

He was directed to the conference room where Ross was with detectives working the kidnapping case. Child kidnappings came under federal jurisdiction, and the fact that the local police were so deeply involved in the case was irritating to him. He entered the room and was unexpectedly grabbed and thrown against a wall. "You bastard!" Logan growled. "Where is that little boy?"

"Logan!" Ross warned.

Logan didn't move, his face inches from the agent's. Then he backed away. Troger straightened his jacket. "We are doing everything we can to find the child."

Logan moved away to lean against the wall near Barek, making no effort to hide the fact that he thought the FBI was involved in this one. He found it too coincidental that they were after Goren and Eames and suddenly Eames' nephew got nabbed by men with badges. Troger addressed Ross directly. "We are investigating the school principal and staff, Nathan's teachers, the parents of his classmates. It's suspicious that the school would release the child to strangers."

"Strangers with badges," Logan accused.

"NYPD badges," Troger shot back.

"Enough!" Ross demanded. "The school principal knows Detective Eames, and she knows that one of Nate's uncles is also a cop, and that his grandfather is retired. So when two cops turned up to collect the little guy during a time of family crisis, no red flags were raised. People trust cops. She said the badges were NYPD. Given the circumstances, she would have expected colleagues of Nate's aunt or uncle to pick him up. We had an artist work with her. They're not NYPD."

Troger trained his glare on Ross. "This is an FBI case, Ross."

"_Captain_ Ross, Agent," he reminded Troger. "Nathan Gannon is the nephew of two active duty NYPD officers and the grandson of a retired officer. He belongs to _our_ family and we will continue to do everything we can to find him and bring him safely home."

Logan stepped away from the wall. "I would hate to see this degenerate into an interagency pissing match. We need to find this kid, and it doesn't particularly matter who finds him. I'm all for working with the Bureau, as long as we find Nate and bring him home safely. Whatever it takes."

Troger ignored him. "Have you been in touch with Detective Eames?"

Ross answered before Logan could. "What does that matter, Agent Troger?"

Troger faced Ross and the two men squared off against one another for a moment. "I was curious, Captain, since the boy is her nephew."

Ross did not back down. "Since I do not know where Detective Eames is, no, I have not been in touch with her," he answered truthfully. "Are you hinting that Nathan's kidnapping has something to do with his aunt's disappearance?"

"I am suggesting nothing of the sort. Has the family received any kind of demand from the kidnappers?"

"Not yet. We have officers at the Gannon home as well as at John Eames' house. No contact has been made yet."

"Can I count on you to get in touch with me when contact is made?"

Ross nodded. "Yes, Agent Troger. If contact is made, we will inform you. I expect similar cooperation from you if you discover anything relevant."

"Naturally. I'll be in touch, Captain Ross."

Logan spoke up. "Do you want to know what I think?"

Ross gave him a warning look. "I already know what you think, detective."

Troger moved away from Ross. "I'd like to know what you think, Detective Logan."

"I think someone in the Bureau snatched the kid to lure Goren back to town."

Troger studied him silently before he answered, "That is a ludicrous assumption. We have nothing to do with the little boy's disappearance. So knock that notion out of your head and let's concentrate on finding the people who actually are responsible." He turned back to Ross. "I will be in touch, captain."

When the door closed, Logan said, "I still think they're involved."

"Let it go, Logan. He's right. It's a ridiculous assumption. Now let's get busy and find this boy. So far the canvass has revealed nothing..."

* * *

Two hours later, Ross received a phone call. He called Logan and Barek into his office. "Mrs. Gannon received a ransom call, but the call didn't last long enough for us to get a trace. The caller was male, and he used a voice distortion device. The lab's got the recording." He sighed. "Are they coming back, Logan?"

Logan didn't have to ask who the captain meant. "Do you have to ask, captain? Of course they are."

"Did you try to talk them out of it?"

"Why waste my breath? Goren knows this is about him. He's not going to risk the little guy's life. He's willing to step into the crosshairs to save Nate."

Barek asked, "What were their demands, Captain?"

"$100,000 in small, unmarked bills."

She gave that a moment of thought. "What does Nate's father do for a living?"

"He's an investment banker," Logan answered.

Barek nodded. "So that shouldn't be difficult for him to get together, depending on his assets. Was that their only demand?"

Ross shook his head. "No. They want Goren to deliver it. Alone."

"Bingo," Logan asserted.

Barek folded her arms over her chest, nodding agreement. "That's their real demand. If the parents were the target, knowing what Mr. Gannon does for a living, they would have asked for a lot more if it were money they were after. A hundred grand is a token. They want Goren."

Ross did not debate her. "When do they plan on coming back to the city, Logan?"

"They'll be here tomorrow. When's the drop supposed to be made?"

"Tomorrow night. They'll be in touch with details." Ross hesitated for a moment. "He'll do it, won't he?"

Logan nodded. "Without a second thought, yeah."

Ross looked at Barek. "Agent Barek, what do you think? You and Logan are the ones who connected the dots and gave me William Terhune. Do you think all of this boils down to the Demarest case?"

"I don't know, captain. Anything is possible, but how likely is it? I don't want to waste time chasing dead ends."

Ross tapped his pen on his desk, then looked at Barek. "Your contact...what are the chances he knows William Terhune?"

"I don't know. I'll give him a call and ask him to meet me. I'll find out what he knows." She left the office and walked to Eames' desk, picking up the phone. She tried several numbers, then returned to the captain's office. "He's not answering. I'll swing by his place on my way home."

"Take Logan with you."

"Captain, I'm not in any danger from this man. I don't need Logan to come with me."

"Humor me, Agent."

Logan saw the debate brewing in her. "I think he's right, Barek. This whole situation has my gut in a knot. I'll go with you."

Finally, she nodded. "Have it your way. Let's go."

* * *

The street where Paul Barek lived was in a quiet, well-to-do Queens neighborhood. When Logan and Barek arrived, however, the street was an explosion of light--the flashing lights of police, fire and ambulance vehicles battling the flickering light of the inferno that engulfed Paul's house.

Barek gasped, and Logan glanced at her. "What?"

"That's his house, Mike."

"Your contact?" She nodded, her face pale, eyes bright with tears. "You know the guy well?"

"I'm not sure I really know him at all, but he's known me since I was born. He's my father's brother."

"Aw, geez...He got any family?"

She shook her head. "No. He never married. I'm his only family in the area. My parents live out west. His other brothers and their families live in Wisconsin and Texas."

Logan parked the car and flashed his badge to the young officer who stopped their approach. Allowed to pass, they found the fire chief with no problem. "Was anybody home, chief?" Logan asked.

"We found one body on the lower level, burned pretty badly."

"Look, I want our ME to handle this body. He may have been a family member. I'll put in the call. ME Rodgers will send her meat wagon."

The chief nodded. "That's fine with me."

Logan made the call as Barek stood nearby, watching the flames. Then he stepped to her side. "Rodgers is on her way."

"Thanks, Mike."

"You okay?"

She continued to watch the flames for a few minutes. "I really don't know what kind of man he was, what kind of world he lived in, day to day. But I do know that he was good to me. He was kind and funny. He used to bring me little presents when I was a kid, just because they made me smile. He called me sunshine." She paused when part of the upper level of the house collapsed. "My world is a little darker now, Mike. It makes a little less sense."

He understood what she meant. The world had quit making sense to him many years ago, and it continued to get more jumbled by the day.

* * *

Goren sat in a chair by the bedroom window. It was still dark outside, but his thoughts were turned inward. He'd had no idea how to comfort Eames after telling her that her nephew had been kidnapped, so he'd followed her lead. She had bourbon; he had scotch. But after only two drinks, she led him into his bedroom, into his bed, and she sought comfort through intimacy. She needed a deeper connection with him, an affirmation of life and love and a powerful distraction from the worry that threatened to consume her.

He didn't hear her get out of the bed, so he didn't know she was up until she ran her hand through his hair and said, "Any word?"

"No."

"Come back to bed. Please."

He looked up at her and what he saw in her eyes made him get up and follow her to the bed. She needed him, and he wasn't going to let her down. He had done too much of that and as long as he could help it, he was not going to do it again.

Much later, she slept in his arms. They would have to get up soon to drive to Heathrow for the flight to New York. He felt her reluctance, but he knew she wouldn't argue with him. They both knew they had to go home. He stroked her hair and watched her sleep. Softly, he said, "I love you, Eames."

He wouldn't say it again.


	14. A Tender Interlude

Eames pulled the blanket around her, silently hoping the flight would never end. She shivered, feeling deeply chilled, and looking out the window at the endless gray of the North Atlantic did not help to warm her any. Every minute, every second, brought them closer to home, and she dreaded it.

In the seat beside her, Goren shifted his position again. Aside from his normal restlessness, he was uncomfortable. Airline seats were not designed for a man his size, even though the ones on overseas flights were a little bigger than those on domestic flights. He tried to keep his mind off what awaited him in New York. He had to stay focused on Nate. Everything else was secondary.

Goren had come to terms with his decision to return to New York; Eames had not. To her credit, though, she went along with him, focusing as much as she could on her beloved nephew. She understood why Goren made his decision, but she could not dispel the dread from her gut. Going home, for him, meant certain death, and she could not bring herself to accept that.

Eames shivered again and pulled the blanket tighter. As she pulled the shade down over the window, Goren slipped his arm around her and held her to him. She slid her hand beneath his shirt and rubbed his warm skin. He closed his eyes for a moment before leaning over to kiss her. Giving herself over to his kiss, she finally felt warm.

_For Nathan,_ he'd told her. _I have to do this for Nathan._ And so, for Nathan, they were going home.

* * *

The late afternoon sun was low in the sky when they landed. At the customs station, after asking if they had anything to declare, the agent studied their passports and asked, "What was the purpose of your trip to the United Kingdom, sir?"

"Honeymoon," Goren replied.

The agent looked at the passports again, then smiled as he handed the documents back to them. "Congratulations."

With a smile, Goren slipped his arm around Eames' shoulders and they continued into the airport. Tipping his head toward her, he said, "We were familiar to him, but the bulletin would have cautioned that we'd be leaving the country, not coming back in." He pulled out his phone. "I have to make a call."

When they exited the airport terminal, Goren looked around. "This way, Eames."

He headed for a green Impala as the driver got out and walked around the car to greet them. "Bobby!" Lewis embraced Goren and gave Eames a shy smile. "Hi, Detective Alex."

"Hello, Lewis."

Goren held the back door of the car open for Eames and said, "Thanks for coming to pick us up, Lewis."

"No problem. There's a place just north of the city where I'm supposed to drop you off. There's a car there for you. Mike told me to tell you he'll call you with the information you need."

Goren started to close the door, but Eames reached out and grabbed his arm. He met her eyes, then he slid into the car beside her. She pressed herself into his side and he slipped his arm around her. She had lost her bearings on life and she didn't know how to get them back. Always she had prided herself on her ability to be strong, to recover from tragedy and hold her head high. Although she had struggled to get over Joe's death, she had successfully moved on with life. She kept her heart cocooned in a protective sheath, but she had not remained mired in grief. She was trying to be strong now, in spite of the circumstances, and she found it easier to remain whole when he was close. Afraid that their time together was limited, she did not want to let him out of her sight.

As the car pulled away from the curb, Lewis looked in the rearview mirror. "Something bad's gonna go down, isn't it?"

Goren nodded. "Yes."

"After I drop you off, will I see you again?"

Eames' hand made a fist where it rested on his stomach and he tightened his arm around her. "I don't know, Lewis."

The rest of the ride was silent.

* * *

Lewis pulled up in front of a small house in a quiet Yonkers neighborhood. He got out of the car and walked around to the other side to say good-bye. He shuffled in front of his friend. "Hey, man, I...I...just be careful."

Goren gave him a hug. "I'll do my best. Thanks, Lewis."

He turned to Eames. "Good-bye, Detective Alex."

She stepped forward, surprising him when she hugged him, and said, "Take care of yourself, Lewis."

Lewis stepped away and got back into the car. He pulled away and drove off without looking back. It was the only way he could leave.

Goren and Eames went into the house. Eames looked around and let out a deep sigh. "Now what?"

He shrugged. "Now, we wait."

Turning, she stepped into his arms, hugging him. When he folded his arms around her, she realized once again that she was not willing to let him go. But she had no idea how to make him stay. Her nephew's life hung in the balance and Goren was right: Nate had to be saved. But once the night's events played themselves out, she would never be the same. Deep in her gut, she knew she was going to lose her partner.

She had no problem convincing him to take her to bed. His fascination with exploring her body lightened her heart. Nestled snugly in his arms, she tried to forget what fate soon awaited him—what awaited them—and he made it easy to do that for a little while. All she wanted at the moment was to love him.

Tenderly, he stroked her skin. He loved to touch her; that surprised him. She responded to him with an abandon that caught him off guard. He knew she was passionate, but her love-making surpassed passion on some level he couldn't identify. She was raw and demanding, and he found that intoxicating and deeply arousing. Nuzzling her ear, he softly said, "I would be happy if I could spend the rest of my life loving you."

Her eyes filled with sudden tears. "Bobby, what if...what if this _is_ the rest of your life?"

He kissed away her tears and responded, "Then...I will die a happy man."

It was so seldom he associated the word happy with his life, but when he was with her this way, he definitely was happy. When he realized she was crying, he responded with concern, smoothing her hair back and kissing her softly. "Please, don't cry. You know that I have to do this. Nate should never have become part of this, but he has and I have to make that right. There is no other way."

"I know, but I don't have to like it."

He smiled. "No, you don't. I don't care for it much myself. But we're forced into this; we have no choice. Right now, I just want to enjoy you."

She lifted her head and looked into his eyes, dark with passion and concern. If circumstances had remained different, she might never have taken this step with him, but she had and she had no regrets. She kissed him hard and gave herself over to him once again. They had precious little time left.

* * *

Logan and Barek walked into Ross' office. "They're back in town," Logan informed him. "They're safe for the moment. As soon as we know when and where, Goren will go. I'll meet him with the money and then, as far as the suspect knows, he's on his own."

Ross nodded. "They know to call me as soon as the suspect makes contact." He tapped the point of his pen on the blank paper in front of him before he looked up. "You both realize that if the Bureau is behind this, Goren's chances aren't good."

Logan and Barek looked at each other before nodding acknowledgment of Ross' comment. "We know that," Logan answered.

Ross kept a straight face. "Which is why you have something planned, something just a little out of sync with procedure."

Logan hesitated long enough for Ross to know he was right with his assumption, but his words toed the line. "Just backup, captain. We have to give him every chance we can."

The captain nodded his head. "I'm going in with you."

Logan hesitated for a moment, looked at Barek. "Uh, that isn't necessary, cap. We have a handle on it."

Ross did not flinch. "If you do not want to lose that handle, detective, you are going to need someone like me to be found holding the bag. Besides, Goren is my detective, and I know his only crime is a passion for the truth. I want to give him every chance to survive this."

Logan looked around the room before he returned his gaze to Barek. She nodded, and he agreed. "All right, captain. And thanks."

* * *

Goren stood in front of the bedroom mirror, straightening his tie, when his phone rang. He grabbed it from the night stand and flipped it open. "The call came in?"

"Yes," Logan answered. "Abandoned factory in Jersey."

"And we know that Nate is okay?"

"Yes. He talked to his mother. He seems fine."

"All right. Tell me where and when, and I'll be there."

He stepped out of the bedroom, securing his bulletproof vest in place. He picked up his jacket. "It's time, Eames. We have to go."

She smoothed her hand over the velcro fasteners of her kevlar vest and nodded as she pulled on her jacket. She felt like she was moving underwater, sluggish and in slow motion. He stepped up to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "We're going to get Nate back. They let him talk to his mother, and he's fine."

Relieved that Nate seemed to be fine, she nodded, but she looked away from him. Placing his finger under her chin, he guided her face back up toward his. He framed her face with his hands and studied her features, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs to wipe away her tears. Still silent, he kissed her. When he withdrew, he quietly said, "Let's go."

Reluctantly, she followed him out of the house.

* * *

Goren and Eames got out of the car and stood outside the abandoned factory building. There was only one other car in sight, Logan's car, parked at the far end of the building.

Logan approached them, carrying a briefcase, which he handed to Goren. "They want you alone, unarmed."

"Of course," he answered as he took the case from his friend. "I should never have gotten you involved in this, Mike."

"I'm glad you did. You helped remind me why I left." He extended his hand. "Good luck in there, Bobby."

Goren nodded, then turned to Eames. "Go with Logan, Eames. Your nephew is going to need you."

She placed the flat of her hand on his chest. She knew chances were better than good that she would never see him alive again, but she didn't know what to say. He tipped his head to the left to catch her eyes. "Don't despair," he said softly. "I told you that I have no desire to rush my death. But my first concern tonight is making sure Nate goes home unharmed. However this ends, I want you to know that you...you are important to me. You kept me grounded, and you saved me from myself. Thank you for that. Stay with Logan, and if everything works out, I'll see you later."

She reached out and rested her fingers on his mouth, her eyes bright and moist. The knot in her gut kept telling her that she was going to bury what was left of her heart in another grave. Leaning forward, she kissed him, one last time. With a final caress, he moved away and walked toward the abandoned building with the briefcase full of money.


	15. Confrontation

William Terhune was not a stupid man. He didn't get as far as he had by making mistakes. The agents he'd had in mind for the job he wanted done, he ultimately decided, were not suitable. Although young and gung ho, they were honest men and good agents. He decided it was not worth destroying their careers when he had other, better options. He had found in the past that when he wanted something questionable done, his best bet was to hire questionable men to do it, ones that could not be traced back to him.

Terhune had many contacts in many different fields. When Alice wanted the bathroom renovated, he found a good contractor who did the job right for next to nothing. When Alice wanted the house painted, he found someone who owed him a favor and the job got done. Every time Darren got himself in trouble, after Alice begged him to help, he got the kid off. The closest he had come to making a mistake was hiring that idiot Demarest to convince Darren's pregnant girlfriend not to leave him. If Demarest had done what he was hired to do instead of killing the girl, then he would not have had to kill Paul or get someone inside Riker's to deal with Demarest, which they assured him would be done by the end of the week. If Demarest had been competent, he would not have to have a good cop killed.

Terhune stopped Darren's car in an alley behind the abandoned factory and sat in the silence. The two men he'd hired to kill Goren weren't professionals, but he had been assured they could do the job well. He had not been pleased when he found out they'd kidnapped a child, but it looked like that kidnapping had served its purpose in getting Goren to come out of hiding. But it certainly complicated matters. He agreed to allow the men to seek a $100,000 ransom as long as no one walked away from the exchange, including the little boy. He was determined to see that they followed through with their job; he was tired of screw ups.

Getting out of the brand new Toyota, he straightened his jacket and went inside the huge brick building.

* * *

Goren walked forward cautiously, shining his flashlight ahead of him, every sense alert. He heard water dripping somewhere within the bowels of the building. A beam creaked overhead. On the far side of the large, open space of the main floor, he saw a light, and he headed for it.

When he stepped into the circle of light, the two men who waited for him seemed surprised to see him. Between them, bound and blindfolded, was 6-year-old Nate, quietly sobbing. Goren looked over the child quickly, relieved that he seemed to be unharmed. The two suspects stood ready, waiting for the cop to go for his weapon, but he didn't. He remained where he was, just inside the circle of light, watching them.

"Did you bring the cash?" the larger of the two men asked.

Goren held up the briefcase, but he did not say anything.

"Show us."

Goren opened the briefcase to show the men the cash inside. The bigger man nodded. "Put it over there, by that panel."

Moving slowly, without taking his eyes from the two men and their captive, Goren moved to the panel and set down the briefcase. He moved slowly forward, toward the men, his eyes shifting between them and Nate. The boy was trembling, and he began to cry again. The second man nudged him with his foot, knocking him over. "Hush, kid."

Goren's body tightened with fury, but he fought it down. Rage would cloud his mind, and he intended to come out of this alive. Eames needed him to come out of this alive.

From the shadows beyond the circle of light, the sound of a round chambering echoed through the factory. The hair on Goren's neck bristled. The bigger man glared at Goren. "You ain't alone!" he growled.

Goren moved as a single shot rang out, ricocheting off a piece of machinery where his head had just been. His heart pounding, he kept moving as the two men went for their weapons. Gunfire erupted in the empty factory as all hell broke loose.

* * *

Barek had a good vantage point on an elevated walkway off to Goren's right. She also had a clear view of the two kidnappers and Nate. She heard the sound of the chambering round, and she knew it had not come from Logan, Ross or Eames. They had entered the factory ready to back up Goren, but she was the only one who was supposed to be up on the catwalks. There was someone else in the building with them.

Gun in hand, she watched the shadows where the noise had originated. She thought she saw movement in the deep shadow, but she could not be certain, and until she was, she would not fire. So she watched and waited, tense and on guard, gun at the ready.

She saw a more definitive motion as the person hidden by shadow fired toward the floor below them. More gunshots followed from below, but she ignored them as the shadow took form. It wasn't Logan, Eames or Ross, but the shape was still familiar.

Gun raised, aiming below, William Terhune stepped into the light, and Barek fired.

* * *

Ross had a clear view of Goren as he watched his detective move to the panel to set down the briefcase of money. He could clearly read the rage that surfaced in Goren's face when one of the kidnappers kicked little Nathan. _Don't be stupid,_ Ross thought. _Get it under control._

He was relieved when Goren did. He heard the chambering gun from the shadows above them, snapping his head in the direction of the noise. Logan, Barek and Eames would be watching out for Goren. As his eyes searched the dark for the source of the noise, the gun barked from the catwalk. As more gunfire broke the dead silence, Ross remained in hiding, watching the shadows take form on the elevated catwalk opposite Barek's position. As the form became a man, gun aimed at the chaos below, Ross fired.

* * *

Logan and Eames were together, behind Goren and off to his left. Logan had given her his backup piece, so she was armed. Eames was relieved beyond words to see Nate, seemingly unharmed. _Please take care of my baby,_ she thought at her partner. Hidden among a maze of abandoned machinery, they found a clear vantage point where they could see both kidnappers as well as Goren. When Goren moved to set down the briefcase, though, he disappeared from their line of vision.

Somewhere on the elevated system of catwalks above them, a round slid into the chamber of a gun. Logan looked at Eames, barely able to make out her face. There was someone else in the building, someone who did not belong there. He motioned to Eames to remain where she was, but as he began to move off to investigate, a gun went off from the space above them, followed by more gunfire much closer. Quickly, he and Eames moved toward the circle of light, assessing the situation as they went, and they both fired.

* * *

**A/N: I'm working on the outcome of this firefight, but I wanted to give y'all something to chew on in the meantime :-) And you _know _how much I love cliffhangers!**


	16. Officer Down

**A/N: I realize there were rumors of Eames having a talk with her sister "Liz", but since they never deemed us worthy of seeing that sister-to-sister chat, I am going to stick with the name I gave her sister a couple of years ago, Regina. Call me stubborn. I'll never forgive USA or NBC for what they have done...**

**I never specify exactly where in NJ Nate's rescue took place, but I'll say this much--I see an abandoned, industrialized area of Hudson County that has not yet been reclaimed. And I will tell you what my mind sees. When I was a kid in Jersey City, we would pass this huge, abandoned brick factory on our way to visit my grandparents. I had no idea what it was when it was functional--I still don't-- but when I knew it, many of the windows were busted out and the bricks were decorated with graffiti. It was run-down, but the building itself was strong and intact. I have no idea if it is still standing, since I have not seen it for many years. But that is what I envision whenever I think of old, abandoned brick factories.  
**

* * *

The unexpected loud noise of the gunfire terrified Nate and he shrieked in horror. He screamed even louder when someone suddenly grabbed him. He felt himself spinning as Goren's familiar voice said, "I've got you, Nate. You're safe."

Nate's panic vanished, replaced by a sense of security born of familiarity. Goren was his aunt's friend, a man who was always kind to him, who brought him presents he loved and played games with him whenever he asked. Goren, he knew, would protect him from the men who tried to hurt him and kept him from going home to his parents. His crying subsided to still-frightened sobs.

Cradled protectively in Goren's arms, he heard a deep grunt and then felt himself falling. The impact knocked the wind out of him. When he could breath again, he called out, but he didn't get an answer. He was still lying against his protector, but Goren no longer held him. Sobbing, Nate wriggled himself as close as he could get to the big body beside him. "Bobby?"

He did not receive an answer.

* * *

Cautiously, Ross stepped out from his cover once the gunfire died away. A bullet had grazed his shoulder, but he ignored the burning pain as he moved forward. On the other side of the illuminated area, he saw Logan and Eames also emerge from cover. Less than ten feet in front of him, Goren was down, lying on his side, curled protectively around Nate, who was sobbing uncontrollably and wriggling to get himself as close to Goren as he could get.

He and Logan checked on the two kidnappers as Eames hurried to her nephew and her fallen partner.

"Nate," she called as she approached and dropped to her knees in front of the blindfolded and bound boy.

"Aunt Alex!" he sobbed as he wriggled in the direction of her voice. "Bobby won't answer me!"

She removed the blindfold and worked on the knots of the ropes that bound him as he cried and looked at Goren's still form with terrified eyes. Once he was free of the ropes, he threw himself into his aunt's arms and cried into her shoulder. Eames sat back on her heels and rested her hand on Goren's hip, looking at his face as Logan and Ross joined her. The captain knelt by Goren's head and felt for a pulse, nodding when he found one.

A loud noise echoed through the building as someone threw the main breaker and the entire interior bathed in light. Barek walked toward them from the steps leading to the system of catwalks above their heads. Loud voices echoed from the rafters as local officers, vested and armed, swarmed into the building and secured it. Ross rose and held out his badge. Guns were lowered and he talked to the officer in charge, who yelled for his men to bring in the paramedics.

Barek stopped by Logan's side and said, "Paramedics--" She pointed toward the catwalks above their heads. "--and a coroner."

Logan nodded his head toward the two suspects as the paramedics reached them. "Suspect A is going to the hospital. His buddy is DOA, bullet in the head."

She watched as he helped Eames to get to her feet while the paramedics worked on Goren. Eames patted Nate's back, watching the paramedics work. Barek asked, "How is Goren?"

Logan shrugged. "I'm not sure. There's blood pooled under his head, but he's still alive. It looks like his vest stopped at least two bullets. Saved his life, but that's gonna smart."

The paramedics carefully removed Goren's jacket, kevlar vest and shirt as they talked. "We have a lot of blood here..." One paramedic observed as he examined Goren's lower back. "And an entry wound. This guy goes first! Let's move!"

Logan joined Ross to talk with the officer in charge, then they approached Barek and Eames. Ross said, "They checked the guy up on the catwalks. Two bullets to the chest. He was dead before he hit the ground. The locals have agreed to let our crime scene guys in to assist since three NYPD officers were involved. The FBI might make a similar request because of Barek's involvement and because the kidnapping was a Federal case."

Logan added, "They agreed to let our ME take possession of the bodies. Rodgers'll get both stiffs. That'll make her day."

Barek nodded at Logan's leg, then at Ross' bloody shoulder. "Did they look at the two of you?"

"I'm fine. It's a flesh wound," Ross assured her.

"Same here," Logan insisted, in spite of growing stain of blood on the thigh of his jeans.

Eames continued to watch as the paramedics hurried out of the building with her partner. She held Nate closer, and Ross touched her shoulder. "Are you okay, Detective Eames?"

"I-I need to take Nate to my sister," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. She was torn; she wanted desperately to go with Goren. But the two paramedic units that had responded were dedicated to the two seriously injured men, and Nate was unharmed. They offered to call another unit in, but Eames knew they would take Nate to a different hospital since one of the injured was a suspect. It would be much faster for her to get her sister take him to the local hospital for a once-over, and that would be much less stressful for the little boy. "I have to go back to the city."

Logan retrieved the briefcase and set it down. "They get their money back, too, as soon as it's no longer needed as evidence. I'll go with you to take Nate home."

Ross said, "Let one of the local units take you to the hospital to get your leg treated, Logan. Barek and I will take care of Eames."

Logan hesitated, feeling some responsibility for Eames, to take care of her for Goren. Barek grabbed his arm and laid her other hand on his shoulder. She understood his hesitation and softly said, "Go on, Mike. Stay with Bobby and call us when they know something. That's what you can do for her."

Logan finally gave in. "I'll stay with him." He rested his hand on Nathan's small blond head and met Eames' eyes. "Try not to worry. I'll call you when I know anything."

Reluctantly, he limped away with an officer Ross had called over. He had a knot in his stomach that would not go away, and he hated leaving Eames without someone close to her to lean on.

* * *

Eames crossed the driveway to her parents' home, carrying Nathan who was sleeping on her shoulder. She found her sister in the living room, by the fireplace, looking at a framed picture of her little boy. "Reggie," she said quietly.

Reggie turned and then gasped. "Nate? Oh, my God, Alex!"

She ran to her sister and gathered her son into her arms, weeping. Eames kissed the little boy she adored. "He's not hurt but take him to the hospital and let them look him over. I have to get back."

"Thank you, Alex."

"Don't thank me, Reggie. Thank Bobby."

Reggie looked around. "Where is he?"

Clenching her jaw, Eames said, "He's in an emergency room in New Jersey, and I should get back."

"Is he all right?"

"I don't know, Reg. He risked everything to protect Nate, and I may lose him. I have to go."

She hurried back to the car where Ross and Barek waited for her. Having said the words, she had made the situation real and she had to get back to him.

* * *

Eames looked out the window at the city that glowed under the light of a thousand street lamps as they drove through the familiar streets of Manhattan toward the Holland Tunnel to return to New Jersey. She remembered with clarity the night Joe had been shot. Now she engaged once again every emotion she'd felt as she waited for him to wake up, to come out of his semi-comatose state. She trembled uncontrollably as she relived the moment he died and her gut tightened with dread, fearing she was going to experience that again with Goren. Part of her had died with Joe and would remain forever buried in his grave; the rest of her would go with Goren.

* * *

It didn't take long for them to treat Logan's injury. A bullet had hit his leg above his right knee, but it had passed cleanly through. A handful of stitches, a shot of antibiotics and painkillers, and he was done. But no one would tell him how Goren was doing, and that both worried and angered him. Finally, he cornered the nurse he'd been hounding. "Look, honey, I don't want the keys to the Kingdom. All I want to know is how my buddy is doing so I can tell his partner something before she loses her mind. Please."

"I would like to help you, but..."

He placed a finger on her lips, silencing her. "I promise you, no repercussions. He would want her to know, and she has medical proxy for him. She'll be here as quick as she can, but she had to take the little guy he saved home to his parents. Please, help me out. Let me call her with _some_ news."

She studied his face, then looked toward the busy room where they were working on his friend. Her voice subdued, she said, "They're treating him for a gunshot wound in his back, trying to get the bullet out without sending him to surgery. It's right there on the margin of being too deep and just shallow enough."

"A bullet got past his vest?"

She shook her head. "That's all I can tell you."

"Can I at least tell her he's going to live?"

She nodded. "Yes, he is going to live."

He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the relief that loosened every muscle in his body and set free the knot in his gut. He kissed the nurse's cheek. "Thank you, sweetheart."

Moving away, he trotted out of the emergency room as he pulled out his phone.


	17. Born Out of Crisis

Eames approached the still busy cubicle where they worked on her partner. A nurse intercepted her. "May I help you?"

"My partner was brought in about two hours ago with a gunshot wound. His name is Goren. I need to see him."

"I'm sorry, but..."

She held out a folded form she pulled from her back pocket. "I have medical proxy. And I _need_ to see him."

The nurse examined the form and nodded. "This way."

Eames was not prepared for the scene that met her when she walked into the cubicle. Bloody gauze littered the floor and the antiseptic smell of the room could not cover the underlying smell of blood. She approached slowly, careful to keep out of the way. He was lying on his stomach as two doctors worked on his back, just above his hip. Blood from a head wound matted his hair and smeared across his cheek. She found a clean towel, moistened it with warm water and tenderly cleaned the blood from his face. Then she leaned down and gave him a soft kiss.

One of the doctors grunted and exclaimed, "Got it!"

A metallic clang sounded as he dropped the troublesome bullet into a metal basin. "Let's finish and find him a room."

As she stroked his hair, Eames watched them work. It took them a half hour to finish, then the doctors both removed their masks, gowns and gloves, and one of them approached her. "You're his family?"

"He has no family. He just has me. I'm his partner."

"You can make decisions for him?"

She nodded. "I have medical proxy, yes. Please, tell me how he is."

"He's doing well under the circumstances."

"Why didn't you send him to surgery?"

"Dr. Carrera and I both have surgical experience, and the ER isn't busy right now. The bullet wasn't too deep, so we decided to try removing it ourselves rather than subject him to general anesthesia."

"You didn't give him anesthesia?"

"Another bullet grazed his head, and he was still unconscious. We gave him a powerful sedative so he wouldn't wake up during the procedure. Fortunately, the bullet that hit him must have been a ricochet, so its velocity was much lower than it would have been otherwise. It lodged in the muscle above his hip, but it never entered his abdominal cavity. If it had, the injury could have been fatal. We had to dig around some to find it, but he handled it very well. Not a single blip on his EKG or any drop in his oxygen levels or his blood pressure. We are going to admit him for observation and pain control, and we'll give him a couple of days of IV antibiotics." He squeezed her shoulder. "The nurses will clean him up and get him upstairs. There's no need to worry."

"Thank you, doctor."

The doctors left and one of the nurses touched her arm. "Why don't you go to get a cup of coffee and a bite to eat while we clean him up and transfer him?"

She looked down at him, caressing his face lightly. Her mind returned to England, and she saw his face above hers. Sometimes, he closed his eyes, to focus on his body's sensations, and sometimes, he watched her, enthralled by her pleasure. A tear rolled down her cheek. "Promise you'll come to get me if he wakes?"

"I promise. But I don't think he's going to wake or I wouldn't suggest you leave. We'll take good care of him."

She nodded and wiped her eyes. Leaning down, she kissed him again, resting her head against his for a moment. Then she left the room and went searching for Logan.

* * *

The room was mostly dark. The glow of the display on the infusion pump beside his bed provided the only light. In a chair by the window, Logan snored softly. Eames sat in the chair beside the bed, unable to sleep. Her mind was a flurry of activity, and she was assaulted by memories both old and new. The day Joe was shot and the day he died were once more clear in her mind. Time had done nothing to heal those old wounds.

She looked at the outline of her partner in the bed, recovering from injuries he had received protecting Nathan. That was another day that erupted crystal clear from her memories—the day Nathan was born. It was a bittersweet memory. Pain and joy blended in a way she had never experienced before or since, and it was a joy she feared she would never know again. Children, it seemed, were not in her future, so all she had was Nate.

Other memories that tormented her were very recent, although they'd been created thousands of miles from home. Yet, although they should have brought her only pleasure, they were laced with pain and fear. If she had not been afraid he was going to be killed, would she still have slept with him? Possibly not right then, but she forced herself to believe that fate would have someday thrust them together.

She continued to beat herself up for failing to keep the promise she'd made after Joe died. She had let herself fall in love again with another cop. Now she was paying the price. Of course, even if she had not slept with him, she would hurt just as much if she lost him. Like it or not, her heart was tied to her partner. Nearly a decade together would do that to people, regardless of gender. Partners were supposed to care about each other. She remembered Kevin Quinn's grief when Joe died. Only another cop would understand that. But Goren, she admitted, was different. In his own awkward way, he had found a secure place for himself in her heart. Security was something he did not have much experience with, and she had certainly given him reason to doubt her during the past couple of years, but that did not change the fact that she did love him.

Goren groaned softly, and Eames sat up straight. When he groaned again, she got up and watched his face in the glow of the infusion pump display. His eyelids fluttered and he opened his eyes. Looking around, he blinked a few times before settling his unfocused gaze on her. "Eames?"

His voice was hoarse and his mind was blurry. He watched her, waiting for her to say something. She reached out, ran her thumb over his jaw, and then touched his lips with her fingertips. Her eyes never left his. "I was so scared," she confessed, her voice quiet so it would not break.

"Why?" he answered, gently kissing her fingers.

She trembled at the brush of his lips over her skin and tears rolled down her cheeks. Reaching up, he brushed away a tear with his left thumb. She turned her head and kissed his thumb. "I can't lose you," she confessed. "I just can't."

He looked at her with confusion. "I'm not going anywhere." He held up his right hand, which had the IV in it. "Not with this, anyway."

She smiled and leaned down to softly kiss him. He touched her cheek and slipped his fingers into her hair. She lingered against his mouth and she wanted him. Pulling back, she looked into his face. He touched her chin, a look of surprised wonderment on his face. "It's not over?"

"Did you expect it to be?"

"Kind of."

She rubbed his chest. "Get better and we'll talk about it."

"Don't wanna talk," he answered with a grin.

She laughed softly. "Go to sleep."

"Uh, Nate...how is he?"

"He's okay. You kept him safe."

"Is your sister still mad at me?"

"Mad at you? Why would she be mad at you?"

His brow furrowed. "Come on, Eames. I got her son kidnapped. That was entirely my fault, and I know she blames me for it."

She had not wanted to dwell on that, though she knew it was true. She would see what happened the next time they got together. "Don't worry about that now. All I care about is that you're going to be okay."

"You blamed me, too."

She'd forgotten how good he was at reading people. "I got over it fast. I know it wasn't your fault. Just go back to sleep and don't worry about it right now."

"We're okay?"

That was always his biggest worry. She smoothed his hair back from his forehead and leaned down to kiss him. "We're better than okay. Now sleep."

He watched her for a few moments before he gave in to the desire to sleep. She continued to smooth her hand over his hair before returning to her chair beside the bed.

* * *

She wasn't certain when she went to sleep, but she did. She woke with a kink in her back and a stiff neck. Soft laughter drifted from the direction of the bed, followed by whispered voices. Opening her eyes, she looked toward the bed as Logan laughed again. "Nah, I'm just messing with you," he said softly.

It was Goren's turn to laugh, followed by a quiet groan as his ribs protested. Logan grinned. "I knew it was gonna smart when I saw those rounds that hit your vest." His smile faded. "They would have killed that little kid if it wasn't for you."

Eames closed her eyes before they noticed she was awake and listened to the conversation. She knew they would say things to one another that they would never say to her.

"They wouldn't have had him in the first place if it wasn't for me," Goren answered.

"That's neither here nor there. You didn't do anything wrong, man. You did everything right, and everyone came out of it alive."

"What happened, Mike? I don't remember anything after the first shot was fired."

"It was kind of chaotic, but I talked to Ross over breakfast. He got a preliminary report from the crime scene boys. They are still calculating trajectories and doing all the geek stuff, but they pretty much figured out what went down." All levity had vanished from his tone and his manner. "If you hadn't been vested, man, you would be dead. There was a guy above us, on the catwalks near where Barek was stationed. He fired the first shot, the one that nailed you in the shoulder. If you hadn't moved when you did, he would have hit you in the head. Then instead of a bruised shoulder, you'd be dead and so would Nate. After you grabbed the kid, you spun and took two hits in the back. As you went down, you got hit two more times, by ricochets. One grazed your head and the other hit you right above the hip, just below your vest. Those two scrubs did their damnedest to take you out. You got very lucky."

"Was Eames hurt?"

Logan grinned. Goren was always worried about someone else, never about himself. "No, she wasn't, and neither were Barek and Nate. I took a round in the leg and Ross got winged, both minor. They weren't after us; you're the one they wanted dead--you and Nate."

"Who was the guy up on the catwalk?"

"Funny story. Ross had Barek and me go through your old casefiles, to see if we could find someone with a reason to want your head mounted on his den wall. We found Darren Bradley. More specifically, we found Bradley's step father, FBI assistant director William Terhune. Terhune is the one who wanted you dead, to keep you from going after his wife's kid, and he was the one who was up on the catwalk."

"Are they charging him?"

"Not any more. He got hit twice in the chest after he got off that first round; he was DOA on the scene. One of the suspects took a bullet to the head, but the other one made it. Ross talked to him early this morning with a Bureau agent. Terhune hired them to kidnap Nate. He gave them permission to seek a hundred grand in ransom as long as they demanded that you deliver it, alone. Then he told them to take you out, and the kid, too. He wanted you both dead. We upset his little scenario."

Goren rubbed his hair, wincing when he ran his hand over the bruised wound on his head. "All that, just to keep us from closing in on his stepson?"

Logan shrugged. "Apparently." He paused. "We stood by you, Bobby. We were getting close when they nabbed Nate. Otherwise, we would have been able to uncover everything and bring you home in a couple of weeks, without casualties. Terhune forced our hand, and he paid the price."

"I would have, too, without the backup I had. You...You took care of Eames for me?"

With a quiet laugh, Logan answered, "Buddy, she can take care of herself."

"I know, but it gives me peace of mind when I know someone is looking out for her when I can't."

"I took care of her."

As Logan said that, Eames got up from her chair. "I can take care of myself, boys."

They looked at her, and Logan smiled. "We know that. But it gives us something to do."

Goren also gave her a smile. "And it keeps me out of trouble."

"That is a full time job, keeping you out of trouble."

He met her eyes. "Well, I'm still here, and I still have my badge, so you're doing something right."

She continued to return his gaze. He was more alert, his eyes not nearly as unfocused. He had a unique ability to draw her into his eyes and heat her body without even touching her, something she first experienced just a few days before, on the coast of England. Her love for him had always been platonic, somewhat like her love for her brothers, but stronger. When panic and despair had driven her into his arms, she had discovered passion, and his intensity nearly made her burst into flames. Even with Logan standing right there, she felt the intense draw that still existed.

On the flight back home, she wondered if she would still feel the same once the crisis had passed and Nate was home safe. No question remained. The intensity of her passion had not faded; it was stronger.

A knock at the door broke the spell. Logan leaned in before the door opened and gave them a knowing smile. "Now I need a cold shower."

Goren laughed, which he regretted, and Eames shoved Logan's shoulder as her face colored. Goren adjusted his position in the bed, leaning toward her to whisper "You're beautiful when you're embarrassed" before he sat back. "Come in," he called out.

Ross came into the room, his arm in a sling, followed by Barek. The captain stopped at the foot of the bed, and Barek stood beside Eames. Ross nodded at her and she said, "I have to go to Washington. They want to question me about what went down and how Terhune was involved."

Goren's brow furrowed. "Are you in trouble?"

With a warm smile, she shook her head. "No. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

Ross spoke, addressing Goren and Eames. "There was a fire in Queens a couple of days ago, one victim, burned beyond recognition. The arson squad found traces of accelerant on the body and a bullet in his head. Dental records confirmed the identity of the victim as the owner of the home."

Barek said, "His name was Paul Barek. He was my father's brother."

Ross continued, "They found no smoke in his lungs, so he was dead before the fire started. The slug they recovered from the body was a match for Terhune's weapon."

Goren turned his attention to Barek. "I'm sorry," he said, his tone sincere, his eyes sad.

She touched his hand. "Thank you."

Ross continued, "The Bureau is launching an internal investigation into Terhune's activities and the department has relinquished that part of its investigation. Internal Affairs is looking into the accusations that were made against you, Goren. I know the two detectives working the case. They will be thorough, but they are fair, honest men. It will be an honest investigation, and I have no doubt you will be cleared."

"Thank you, captain."

Ross nodded. "I'll see you back at your desk in a couple of weeks. Eames, I'll see you Monday."

"Yes, captain. Thank you."

Ross turned and left the room. Logan said, "He was behind you all the way, you know. He backed everything we did and stood his ground with the local feds. His position carries clout and he used it. He never doubted you."

Eames kept a straight face as she said, "He can be taught."

With a laugh, Logan nudged Goren. "I'm gonna go grab some sleep. That chair sucks as a bed. I'll bring you a burger later on."

"Thanks, Mike."

"Yeah, any time. I've always got your back."

He winked at Eames and left the room. Barek gave Eames a hug and leaned over to kiss Goren's cheek. "I'd better go, too. I have a plane to catch. You guys take care."

"Thank you, Barek," Goren said. "I appreciate everything you did."

"I'm glad it turned out right for a change."

"I am sorry about your uncle."

"Thank you. That's the only thing I wish had turned out differently." She waved. "Good-bye, and get well fast."

She left the room and Goren leaned his head back. "Did you know Terhune wanted them to kill Nate, too?"

"I heard. We were lucky you were there to save him."

"Are you sure he's all right?"

She nodded. "I talked to my sister last night after they got back from the emergency room. Aside from some bruises, he's unharmed. He might need some therapy to get over the psychological trauma of what he went through, but he's going to be fine." She paused. "What about you?"

"Me? Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. When the doctor came in this morning, he said they'll switch me to oral medicine this afternoon and remove the IV. I can probably go home tomorrow."

"You'll need someone to take care of you."

He shook his head. "I can take care of myself. I've been doing it all my life."

She leaned closer. "You take care of me every day. It's my turn to repay the favor. I know that you don't need anyone, but I was kind of hoping you might still _want_ someone around...like me, maybe..."

Realization dawned, and he smiled. "Are you sure you still want to be around me?"

She closed the distance between them and kissed him, putting the heat of desire that burned through her into her kiss. When she pulled back, he took a few moments to catch his breath. It wasn't over as he'd feared it would be. In fact, it had just begun.

_fin._


End file.
